Nathaniel and the Orphan
by FuyuSarah
Summary: She was the girl whose braids he tied to her chair. She was just the younger sister's best friend. Was. Past tense. Nathaniel didn't think it would happen, but it did. A retelling of Meg Cabot's Nicola and the Viscount, seen through Nathaniel's eyes.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: **_Nicola and the Viscount_ and the events and characters included in the book are not mine. They're all owned by Meg Cabot. I just play with them.

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**PART ONE **

**CHAPTER ONE **

_**London, 1810**_

"Well, chaps," Sir Hugh Parker said, standing up with the grace of a perfect gentleman, "I regret to inform you that I must go ahead. I have several errands to attend to, it seems."

The Honorable Nathaniel Sheridan looked up from the newspaper he was reading, just as their other friends paused from talking about that afternoon's tennis match. "Do you, now?" he asked, leaning forward and setting down the newspaper, making a lock of his dark brown hair fall on his forehead as he did so. "I suppose I should get going myself."

"Where to?" Sir John Beckett asked as Nathaniel stood up. "You have errands to run, as well, Sheridan?"

"Yes, actually, somewhat."

"Could you not be away from the ledgers for one day, Sheridan?" Sir Hugh asked, smiling with one blonde eyebrow raised. "Going back to calculations for your estate already?"

"No, not quite yet," Nathaniel answered, laughing. "I'm off to fetch my sister from her school."

Although Sir Hugh's comment may appear to be cheeky to an outsider's ears, Nathaniel thought nothing of it if it came from his friends. He had become quite accustomed to them implying that he did calculations every second of the day if he was not eating or sleeping. Perhaps it was because he had recently finished first at mathematics in Oxford, or perhaps it was because he _did_, in fact, quite often keep accounts for their estate to aid his father.

If it came from his sister, Eleanor, however, Nathaniel would respond in a slightly different manner. His laughter would be accompanied by a raised eyebrow and a comeback that would most likely send Eleanor into a fit. He was four years older than her, after all, and, as her older brother, he had every right to irritate her, even if it meant that he would be pulling her away from being ladylike every once in a while.

Eleanor had, up until that very day, been attending Madame Veuxvincent's Seminary for Young Ladies, and she was expected to be as finished and proper as any sixteen-year-old debutante. But, in Nathaniel's eyes, she would forever be his baby sister who was always there to tease and play with.

She would also forever be the baby sister that he would always protect.

Being a bachelor himself — and quite eligible, it appears — he had seen how sixteen-year-old debutantes tended to dive headlong into looking for a husband. It was irritating, and sometimes even disturbing, how Nathaniel had seen ladies flirt with him before. Perhaps it was because of his first in mathematics; it _was_ quite a good asset. Or perhaps it was because of his physical appearance. Although Nathaniel was miles away from being narcissistic, he was well aware that women found him easy on the eyes. He was considerably tall, and his mother had always told him that his hazel eyes were something of a wonder.

But, self-examination aside, Nathaniel constantly hoped that Eleanor would be dignified enough to think twice before jumping into matrimony. Although marriage was all good and well, Nathaniel always thought that some girls rushed into marriage because of the thrill and excitement of romance, which oftentimes clouded the sensible mind.

Such were his thoughts as he arrived at the Seminary. He entered confidently, acknowledging the other ladies and gentlemen that had come to fetch their own daughters and sisters. He then proceeded up the stairs and through the hallway towards his destination.

Upon getting there, he paused by the doorway, not quite entering it yet, as his eyes took in the sight that was his sister's room. It was arguably neat, considering the fact that packing was ongoing. Several articles of clothing were spread out on the bed, but everything else seemed to be in order. His mother, the Lady Sheridan, was there, neatly folding a dress for Eleanor with the assistance of their maid.

His gaze shifted towards the window, where he saw the familiar back of his sister as she leaned on the sill, apparently gushing about something outside. Beside her, also leaning on the window sill, was Miss Nicola Sparks, Eleanor's schoolmate and bosom friend. Both girls had their hair swept up, and, Nathaniel had to admit, were looking quite pretty and ladylike. Those two _did_ have the capacity to be a vision when they wanted to.

His sister Eleanor had always been beautiful, he knew, which was precisely why he felt protective of her. He was sure many blokes will come to seek her soon enough, and he was also sure that he would be there sifting through them to weed out anyone who might have ignoble intentions.

"If he did, he must certainly love you now," she was saying. "For no one can hear you recite Scott, Nicky, and not love you."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. Was this not the subject of his thoughts no more than several minutes ago? It was predictable for his sister and her friend to be talking about love promptly after finishing their studies, but to be talking about someone loving them this early was just ridiculous. Many a gentleman may fall in love with them eventually, he was sure, but _already_? Why, they were barely out of their braids! Nathaniel resolved that he, as a responsible older brother, should pull his sister's (as well as Nicola's) feet back to earth. And he would do it in the best way he knew how.

Teasing.

And so, with a smirk on his lips, Nathaniel casually strode into his sister's room, saying "Who loves Nicky?"

His grin widened as Eleanor and Nicola spun around at his entrance, the surprised expression on their faces simply priceless.

"Nathaniel, what can you be thinking?" his mother scolded him. "Entering your sister's bedchamber without knocking first! I have never heard of such a thing."

"The door was open," Nathaniel stated simply as he made himself comfortable onto a nearby settee. "Who loves Nicky?" he repeated.

To his amusement, Nicola threw a glance at his mother, obviously pleading for help. It was always like this, Nathaniel observed, whenever he teased his sister and her particular friend. Before, when they were younger, Nicola and his sister would lash back at him, stomping their foot and shrieking about him being obnoxious or some other such nonsense. Now, however, since the girls were obviously trying — and hard, at that — to be ladylike, they appeal to Lady Sheridan for mediation. Lady Sheridan, being the proper lady and mother herself, would always oblige, if not to satisfy her own desire to attempt to put Nathaniel in his place. Needless to say, this did not entirely stop Nathaniel from teasing the girls to no end.

It was not that he was trying to be irritating, oh no, not at all. It was not that he didn't want to have a "normal" relationship with his sister. As a matter of fact, Nathaniel thought their relationship was perfect as it was. If he took on the role of knight in shining armor for Eleanor all the time, it would only be boring. He loved her, yes, and he was protective of her, yes, but it would simply be more fun if they had a banter every now and then. And it was especially more interesting when Nicola was involved, as well. Why, she was his sister's bosom friend! Wouldn't it only be right if Nathaniel treated her like he did his own sister?

And besides, he liked it when Nicola was infuriated with him. Despite the fact that her voice was rather shrill when she yelled at him, her fiery retorts made her seem more energetic, more full or life, as her cheeks colored pink (never mind that it was of rage directed at him) and her blue eyes shone like sapphires. Fortunately, it was quite easy to get her wound up, since it only took Nathaniel to voice out his natural dislike for poetry, which, coincidentally, was the one thing that Nicola Sparks so loved.

"You'll be addressing Nicola as Miss Sparks from now on, Nathaniel," Lady Sheridan declared as expected. "As of today, she is no longer in the schoolroom, and you will accord her the courtesy you would if she were a stranger to you, and not Eleanor's particular friend." And then to Nicola, she said, "But you, my dear, should still feel free to crack him over the head with your parasol if he persists in being irritating."

Nathaniel frowned at this, but before he had the chance to protest, Phillip, his 10-year-old brother, burst into the room and practically leapt towards him in excitement. "Nat," he cried. "You should see the phaeton that just pulled 'round! Matching bays, eighteen hands each if they're an inch, and had to have cost a hundred quid each, easy—"

"Phillip!" Lady Sheridan exclaimed. "Really. A gentleman always knocks before entering a lady's boudoir."

_That again, is it? _Nathaniel thought. _But this is -Eleanor's- room! _

Phillip, to Nathaniel's pride, spoke his older brother's own thoughts. "Lady?" he asked. "What lady? It's only Eleanor's room, after all."

Nathaniel nearly laughed, wanting to ruffle his brother's hair and say "That's m'boy!" But he did not, due to the fact that his mother was already riled enough as it is, and that his brother quickly addressed him again.

"Listen, Nat," Phillip continued, "you must come and see these bays—"

"Mademoiselle," came a voice, making all eyes turn to the doorway, where a maid stood, holding a bonnet and parasol. "Begging your pardon, mademoiselle, but the Lady Farelly sent me to fetch you. Their carriage just pulled 'round. They are all waiting for you downstairs."

As Phillip said something about the bays being Lord Farelly's, Nathaniel realized in a flash that the only girl the maid could possibly be talking to was Nicola, and he also realized what exactly the maid was saying.

"Lord Farelly!" he exclaimed, nearly leaping out of the settee he had been so comfortably leaning on. "What the devil? You're not going to stay with the _Bartholomews_, are you, Nicky?"

No, no, no! Nicola _couldn't_ be staying with the Bartholomews! Although Lady Sheridan had never mentioned whether or not Nicola was going to stay in their estate, Nathaniel naturally assumed that she was. Well, where else would she stay during her first society season? The Sheridan home, that's where! Eleanor was her bosom friend. The Sheridans were practically her family. She was _their_ Nicola, _their_ Nicky!

"What if I am?" Nicola asked, reaching for the bonnet her maid held. Nathaniel wanted to snatch it from her, as if that would keep her from leaving. "They are perfectly nice people."

"Perfectly _rich_ people, you mean," Phillip said. "No wonder Nicky's staying with them, with bays like that."

"Phillip!" Lady Sheridan scolded, her patience thinning. "It is uncouth to comment upon the financial status of others. And Nathaniel, I told you before, you are to address Nicola as Miss Sparks."

As Eleanor further chastised Phillip for thinking that Nicola was staying with the Bartholomews for their money, Nathaniel couldn't help but frown at the way things were going. This social season, his sister's (as well as Nicola's) first, was supposed to be fun. They were supposed to celebrate this momentous occasion together! And then Nicola suddenly upped and decided that she was going to stay elsewhere. And at the _Bartholomews_' of all places! True, they were rich, and she might enjoy luxury there, but—

"...it's got nothing to do with that," Nathaniel vaguely heard Eleanor tell Phillip. "The fact is, she's in love with Lord Sebas—"

"Eleanor!" Nicola cried, her eyes filled with panic and scolding. But it was too late. The damage was done.

"So _that's_ who you were talking about when I walked in," Nathaniel said, finally seeing the whole picture. And that picture, mind you, was not at all appealing. Lord Sebastian? She chose to stay with the Bartholomews because of _Lord Sebastian_? That jerk who, for some inexplicable reason, had somehow fooled the whole world that he was the perfect gentleman?! Nathaniel seethed inwardly, and, outwardly, glared at Nicola. "Well, just so you know, Sebastian Bartholomew is nothing but an _oarsman_."

Nathaniel had nothing against oarsmen, of course, but against that particular oarsman, he had lots. And now, stealing Nicola away from where she was rightly to be was yet another mark to that cretin's discredit.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, saying things like that," Nicola cried. "You don't even know him!"

_Oh, for the love of all that is high and mighty. _

"I know him a good deal better than you do," Nathaniel replied easily. "He was in my same college at Oxford." _Unfortunately_, he added to himself.

"And?" Nicola demanded. "So what if he was an oarsman? I should think that's a good deal more exciting than what _you_ were doing at Oxford."

"Getting an education you mean?" Nathaniel laughed, not even attempting to hide the sarcasm, as he folded his arms across his chest. "Yes, I should say Bartholomew had a more _exciting_ time of it at Oxford than I did."

Obviously furious, Nicola stamped her slippered foot and declared, "You make him sound like a wastrel!"

"You said it. Not me," Nathaniel retorted, leaning forward to further taunt Nicola, so that they were almost nose-to nose as they glared at each other.

"Don't pay any attention to him, Nicky," Eleanor said, naturally taking her friend's side. "Lord Sebastian is a poetry lover, like you. You know how Nat feels about poetry."

Yes, she _did_ know how he felt about poetry. And what did she know about Sebastian Bartholomew? Nothing!

As his mother stepped in and interviewed Nicola about whether or not her uncle — who wasn't actually her uncle, but is instead her cousin — and guardian Lord Renshaw — whom she and Eleanor called "The Grouser" — knew about her staying with the Bartholomews, Nathaniel tried to calm down, even for a bit. Good grief, was this going to be their last argument before Nicola was to be spirited away by that annoying git? Nathaniel enjoyed their sparring matches, yes, but could they not have argued over something else, like poetry? He would have had much more fun at that. And besides, Sebastian Bartholomew was hardly a thing to spend precious time and energy on.

Nicola assured Lady Sheridan that The Grouser did, indeed, know about her little trip, before narrowing her eyes at Nathaniel, saying, "The Grouser is a bit of a curmudgeon, but at least _he_ isn't a narrow-minded poetry hater."

Aha! _Finally_! Something worth fighting over. Nathaniel opened his mouth to comment on this, but his mother didn't give him a chance to. "Fine, then," she said. "If Nicola's guardian knows and has approved, then I don't think, Nathaniel, that we can have any objec—"

"Oh, he doesn't approve," Eleanor interrupted with a giggle. "The Grouser was quite put out with Nicky for not agreeing with him and that dreadful milksop of a son of his in London. Wasn't he, Nicky?"

Lady Sheridan, after all the ungentlemanly and unladylike behavior of the young people in the room, looked heavenward. "Eleanor," she said. "Kindly do not refer to Lord Renshaw as the Grouser, and his heir as the milksop."

Eleanor, surprised, asked, "Why shouldn't I? He _is_ one."

"Nevertheless—"

"Mademoiselle," the maid, apparently still standing in the doorway, cleared her throat. "I am sorry to interrupt, but we must not keep Her Ladyship waiting."

Nathaniel suppressed the sigh that threatened to escape him. So this was it. Nicola was leaving them. She was leaving her best friend, Eleanor Sheridan, in favor of Lady Honoria Bartholomew, who was merely their fellow boarder. She was leaving him, Nathaniel Sheridan, in favor of Sebastian Bartholomew, who was an annoying git. How perfectly absurd.

But, Nathaniel reckoned as Nicola turned to say her good-byes to the two ladies in the room, he would still be able to see her, wouldn't he? This _was_ social season, after all. They could socialize perfectly well in the many balls and soirees that Nicola would surely be attending. That Sebastian Bartholomew just had better keep his hands off her, or Nathaniel would not even think twice before punching him square on his pretty nose.

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**From the Author:** To be continued? Yes? No? I so love Nicola and the Viscount... I was a bit surprised that there were no fics here in FFnet about it. Drop me a line!

Oh, and John Beckett is my original character. Just in case you were wondering.


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: **_Nicola and the Viscount_ and the events and characters included in the book are not mine. They're all owned by Meg Cabot. I just play with them.

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**CHAPTER TWO **

The sound of consistent tapping on the desk would have been irritating to anyone else in the room. But since Nathaniel was alone in the study, he found no need to stop the urge to drum his fingertips on the hardwood surface of his desk.

He sighed heavily, running his fingers through his dark brown hair. He had been checking the records for their estate for the past two hours, and, as supposedly comforting as the results of his calculations should have been, Nathaniel was far from comfortable with it.

For the first time in months, everything was accounted for in the initial calculations. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ the accounts to be straight. It was just that, most usually, first calculations didn't tally and had to be rechecked. Small mistakes were usually seen, and, eventually, the records would be as clear as it should be. Now, however, everything was in place, and, even though he had rechecked everything, he saw no discrepancy in the ledgers.

Leaning back on his leather chair, Nathaniel remembered something his professor at Oxford had told him once.

"Look for mistakes, and you'll find them," he had said. "But if you look too hard, you just might make them."

A memorable piece of advice from one of the masters Nathaniel had looked up to. Although practically a genius, he was not within the bounds of absent-minded professor, and he liked applying mathematical principles into life.

"Mathematics is life," he had said. "And I don't say that just because we have to count how many pounds we have in the bank."

Because of that, Nathaniel especially liked going to his lectures, even more than he did for his other courses. If all of the professors in Oxford had been like him, then maybe everyone would be enjoying every second of their time in that university. Or, rather, they would enjoy _studying_ in the university. Other people, it seemed, had a "remarkable" time at Oxford, but had it outside of the classroom.

Like Sebastian Bartholomew, for example.

The Viscount Farnsworth — that was Bartholomew's title, which he would hold until his father's passing, at which time he would be the Earl of Farelly — seemed to be more focused on horse races and rowing than he was on books. And his lot seemed to find entertainment in laughing at studious Oxford students, who prioritized education over recreation. Students like Nathaniel Sheridan. Well, Sebastian Bartholomew was an irresponsible prick, so his opinions didn't actually matter. Nathaniel simply pitied Farnsworth's kind, receiving so much and yet taking it for granted.

Finally deciding that he had rechecked the records enough, Nathaniel stood up, stretching his tired back, to begin putting away the numerous pieces of paper on the desk. Before he was able to, however, there came a firm knock on the door, which, upon Nathaniel's invitation, opened to reveal his father, the Lord Sheridan.

"How goes our accounts, Nat?' he asked as he approached the desk.

"Quite well, Father," Nathaniel said, returning the older man's smile. "Is there anything I can assist you with?"

Lord Sheridan chuckled lightly before saying, "No, nothing in particular. I just thought I'd drop by."

Nathaniel hesitated for a moment, but when his father sat down and gazed at the scenery outside, he decided to just continue what he was doing.

The next moments were spent in comfortable silence as Nathaniel tidied up his desk, putting various books and ledgers into their respective drawers. As for Lord Sheridan, he sat on the cushioned seat comfortably, still gazing out the window. The wind blew outside, making the leaves rustle in the trees.

"Sometimes it still amazes me how hardworking you are, Nathaniel," Lord Sheridan said, breaking the silence. "I'm proud of you for it, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I think you told me once or twice," Nathaniel said jokingly. "Thank you, sir."

Lord Sheridan replied to his son's gratitude with a dismissive — but definitely not offensive — wave of his hand before saying, "I'm simply thankful that I don't have a lazy son who only thought of whist and bagatelle. You've already achieved so much at your young age... There's nothing more I can ask for in a son." The Lord Sheridan paused, rubbing his chin, before adding, "Well... Not much, anyway."

There was about one second's pause, only long enough for Nathaniel to raise an eyebrow, and for the corner of Lord Sheridan's lips to quirk up in a grin, before the two men broke out in jolly laughter.

Lord Sheridan, as if to match his none-too-large build, had a deep, rich laugh that communicated his joy, however shallow the reason may seem be. His laughter was contagious, others say, and he was rarely seen frowning, even in the most stressful moments. Somehow, he always managed to be calm and collected during those times, maintaining an air of undeniable authority as his quick mind led others into action.

However, when all signs of adversity is lost, Lord Sheridan returns to being the happy Viscount, that was his nature. He had always been a jolly fellow, after all, making it a point to share a few jokes not only with his fellow nobles, but also with his children. Nathaniel wondered how many sons, especially firstborns, were able to laugh together with their fathers. From what he had seen from his peers, most of the young men felt the heavy pressure in being their fathers' heirs. Truly, it was Nathaniel who couldn't ask more from his father.

Once the laughter died down, Nathaniel thanked his father for his encouragement, but could not help wonder what this conversation was actually about. It was not that his father rarely complimented him — as a matter of fact, Nathaniel and his siblings were very encouraged and loved children — but there was something about the older man's tone, as well as the way he carried himself, that made Nathaniel feel that there was something else coming.

Being a young man who was trained to be deductive, Nathaniel was right.

"Ah, you'll be all right, Nat, I've no worries about that," Lord Sheridan went on, his brown eyes looking straight at his son. "I am, however, quite concerned about how you always keep to yourself."

At that, Nathaniel blinked, a bit owlishly, at his father. "But, sir," he said, "I don't... I don't keep to myself. I have friends with whom I ride and play chess with for recreation."

"Yes, I'm quite familiar with Sir Hugh Parker and your other friends," Lord Sheridan agreed, nodding. "But aside from them, the only people that seem to take up your time is our family."

The Lord Sheridan had been using a kind, gentle voice ever since the conversation began. And, really, leaping out of one's chair to practically shout at a man using such a voice, especially if that man was one's father, would be a bit too impolite. But that was precisely what Nathaniel did.

"Naturally!" he said, incredulous. "Would you prefer that I didn't? You're my _family_!"

"You're _my_ family," Lord Sheridan answered patiently, unmoved by his son's reaction. "There's a difference."

"But—"

"I'm the head of this household, Nathaniel, not you," Lord Sheridan continued as if Nathaniel had not attempted to protest again. "And as long as I am able, I believe you ought to be be the son, and I your father. I am happy that you are such a responsible young man, I truly am, but there are times that I wonder if you're being too responsible for your own good."

Nathaniel, who was, by this time, calm once again, sat back down on his chair. He still didn't quite understand what his father was trying to say, but, even so, he controlled himself to listen to the older man for a while until he had made his point.

The Lord smiled, and, for a moment, Nathaniel thought he saw a rather mischievous glint in his father's eyes. "Do you not think it's about time you began thinking about building your own family, Nathaniel? I do believe you are more than ready for it."

_That_ was what all this was about?

Nathaniel opened his mouth to answer, only to close it and, again, open it once more. What was he supposed to say to that?

"Nat," the Lord Sheridan said when Nathaniel failed to verbalize anything intelligent, "I had been wondering: have you any girl in particular to whom you are, to any degree, attached to?"

Nathaniel didn't know why, but the first picture that came to mind was a beautiful face of ivory complexion, blue sapphire eyes and strawberry lips framed by ebony hair... Specifically, the lovely face of Miss Nicola Sparks. Yes, if there was any girl he was attached to, it was her. Although, Nathaniel reckoned, he was _stuck_ with her more than anything else, what with her being Eleanor's particular friend...

"Well," Lord Sheridan said, clearing his throat after a few moments of silence. "I think I've 'dropped by' long enough." With that, the Lord Sheridan stood up and left, but not before telling his son, "Remember, there is an opportune time for everything."

And so, with a sigh, Nathaniel leaned back on his chair, running his fingers through his brown locks. He had done that action several times that afternoon, but it had been because of his frustration with the too-perfect numbers on the estate's records. Now, however, he did so because of his father's speech.

But, the truth was, Nathaniel admitted to himself, he was more perplexed about his inner mind's answer to his father's last question.

He had thought of Nicola. But why? Not only was it impossible for him and Nicola to be anything remotely close to being a pair, but Nathaniel refused to see her as a candidate for being his wife. Absolutely not. He would not, for any reason, compare her to other ladies as if he was looking to choose a pair of gloves.

And besides, she claimed she was in love with Sebastian Bartholomew, didn't she? He had seen her with Viscount Farnsworth many times this season. He had seen how she looked at him, her eyes filled with adoration. Blind adoration, if Nathaniel had any say in it. In those gatherings, he would take every opportunity to make her see who Lord Sebastian really was, but Nicola would have none of it. Before Nathaniel could even begin to be serious, Nicola would lash at him (as much as being a lady permitted) at the smallest hint of him slighting the Viscount.

Nathaniel turned his gaze out the window, remembering that today was a Wednesday, which meant that he would be going to Almack's with Eleanor and his family. Did his father purposely speak with him right before going to Almack's at the hope that he would be inclined to look for one there? Perhaps. Perhaps he really ought to be looking at getting married. Twenty _was_ a ready age for it.

And besides, Nathaniel mused as he stood to leave the study, fatherly advice _was_ a wise thing to follow.


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: **_Nicola and the Viscount_ and the events and characters included in the book are not mine. They're all owned by Meg Cabot. I just play with them.

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**CHAPTER THREE **

Ah, Almack's.

If there was any place where one must be present during Wednesdays evenings on social season, it was in these assembly halls. It was the place to see people, and be seen by people. Everyone was expected to be at their best, and banter between siblings — like the one Nathaniel just had with Eleanor because he teased her about Sir Hugh asking her for the first dance — was to be left outside the main doors. This was the venue for ladies to meet gentlemen and develop friendships and, possibly, life-long relationships.

That was why Nathaniel should not have been at all surprised when he saw Miss Nicola Sparks.

The Sheridans had arrived at Almack's at a rather fashionable time: not at all early, but not too late. Couples were already dancing, and social chat was bubbling in the air. The Lord and Lady Sheridan entered with grace, greeting the other ladies and gentlemen they passed by. Behind them walked Nathaniel, with Eleanor's hand linked on the crook of his elbow.

Nathaniel had, in light of his talk with his father that afternoon, decided to set his mind on looking to see which girl he should consider to marry. He had been reluctant to do it, but he knew he had to, sooner or later.

However, all thought of dancing with another evaporated into the air when a fairy — and, for about three seconds, Nathaniel was truly convinced that she was a fairy — glided towards him, the skirt of her light pink gown flowing behind her. The crystals in the chandeliers on the ceiling paled in comparison to her sparkling eyes, and the best velvet in the world would probably never match her soft skin, upon which dainty wisps of her glossy hair brushed faintly. The fairy nothing but glowed, and Nathaniel simply couldn't help but stare at her...

Until she spoke.

"Eleanor!" she said, taking the other girl's hands. "There's something I _must_ speak with you about."

"What is it, Nicky?" Eleanor asked, concerned. "Is something the matter?"

Nicola didn't answer her, but instead, barely even glancing at Nathaniel, turned to the Lord Sheridan apologetically. "Might I steal Eleanor for a moment?" she asked.

"Yes, dear, you may," Lord Sheridan said, smiling, as the Lady Sheridan nodded.

And then the two girls were gone. Nathaniel didn't know how long he had been standing there, staring at the point where Eleanor and Nicola had disappeared to join the sea of black coats and evening gowns in the room, but the next thing he knew, someone was jabbing his ribs with their elbow.

"Sheridan," came the familiar voice of Sir Hugh Parker, "your mouth is hanging open."

Nathaniel promptly clamped his mouth shut, narrowing his eyes at the smirking gentleman beside him.

"I'm just miffed she didn't even acknowledge me," Nathaniel explained as dismissively as he could. "It's quite impolite, you know, since my family _had_ practically adopted her."

"Hm, yes, I'm _sure_ that's why you were dumbstruck at her appearance."

"Shut it, Parker."

"As you wish, Sheridan."

With that, their conversation ended, as Sir Hugh turned to greet the Lord and Lady Sheridan, who were standing nearby. As for Nathaniel, he made his way to the refreshment table in order to put his mind on other things. But it wasn't because the image of the fairylike Nicola kept replaying itself in his head. Oh no, it wasn't because of that. Nathaniel felt that he needed to distract himself from thinking angry thoughts about her.

What he had said to Sir Hugh had been true: he truly thought that it _was_ impolite for her not to spare him even the smallest glance. (Although perhaps it was quite to his advantage, as he was spared the humiliation of her noticing that he had been staring at her, mouth agape.) Nathaniel felt something — something he refused to call jealousy — rise up in his chest. He rarely saw her outside Almack's, and half the time that he _did_ see her, she was with that Sebastian Bartholomew. What could have been so important that she couldn't stay for a few more seconds, even if it was to reprimand him for hating poetry so?

"Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Sheridan?"

Nathaniel snapped out of his reverie, looking up to see Miss Stella Ashton, Eleanor's fellow debutante, smiling politely at him.

"Miss Ashton," Nathaniel greeted her, bowing his head slightly. "Good evening."

"Good evening," she replied. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to disturb you."

"Oh, no," Nathaniel said, laughing a bit. "Please don't apologize. Deep thoughts are better interrupted, at times."

"That's true," Stella agreed as she brought her glass to her lips to take a sip. Afterwards, as her eyes turned to the dance floor, she tipped her glass a bit, making the light punch in it swirl.

"It seems to me," Nathaniel began, turning to the dance floor himself, "that I'm not the only one with deep thoughts, Miss Ashton."

Stella gave a small laugh, saying, "Yes, well, it takes one to know one."

"Indeed."

"Social season has its perks," Stella said, twirling her glass again, "but it also has its disadvantages."

"Such as?"

"Such as mothers looking for husbands for their daughters."

"I thoroughly agree with you, Miss Ashton," Nathaniel said. "I don't think my father has ever been into matchmaking, but he can be quite... _persuasive_ about things when he wants to be."

They laughed at this, and Nathaniel noticed that he felt more relaxed. Going to the refreshment table had been a good idea, it seemed.

"It's quite a relief to find someone in the same predicament as I," Stella said gratefully.

Before Nathaniel was able to answer, though, another girl approached them — Stella introduced her to Nathaniel to be her cousin — and told Stella that her mother was looking for her.

"It was a pleasure talking with you, Mr. Sheridan," Stella said, giving a small curtsey.

"The pleasure's all mine, Miss Ashton."

And with that, Nathaniel was alone once again. He had just refilled his punch glass when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement by the doors. A movement made by something _purple._

Mr. Harold Blenkenship had arrived.

Nathaniel blinked, his lips curling up in amusement, as he watched Nicola's cousin, the son of Lord Renshaw, hesitantly enter the assembly hall. Whereas him arriving had been an interesting enough of an incident, his appearance upon arrival was even more _riveting_. Nathaniel, although quite often well-dressed, had never been picky about fashion. However, with what Harold Blenkenship was wearing, he could not help but roll his eyes.

The Milksop, as Nicola and Eleanor called him, was wearing an absolutely conspicuous shade of purple that, against his pale skin, made him stick out like a sore thumb. Already several patrons of Almack's were looking at him quizzically, and Nathaniel could only pity the one that the Milksop was looking for. And, indeed, Mr. Blenkenship was in search for someone, as he craned his neck as his eyes scanned about the room.

But then, a look of relief spread across the Milksop's face, and Nathaniel supposed he had found whom he was looking for. As the purple-clad boy proceeded to cross the room with an eager gait, Nathaniel lifted his glass to sip his drink, curiously following the direction of the Milksop's gaze to see just whom he was meeting... but then nearly choked when he saw who it was.

_Nicky?! _

Nathaniel rapidly looked back and forth from Nicola, who was standing beside Eleanor and conversing with Sebastian Bartholomew, to the Milksop, who was weaving through the crowd to get to her. Eleanor, who saw the Milksop approaching, jabbed her friend's ribs to notify her of the new arrival. A look of dread immediately descended on Nicola's face as she turned to see her cousin. But, to Nathaniel's puzzlement, Nicola didn't seem at all to be surprised. Could it be that she had known that Harold Blenkenship was coming?

Unable to help himself, Nathaniel strode towards the group he had been observing, and he did so casually so as not to be noticed. He had no intention of meddling, after all. He only wanted to know what all this was about. By the time the orchestra began playing the Sir Roger de Coverley, Nathaniel had gotten close enough to hear Harold Blenkenship greet Nicola and tell her how lovely she looked. Although Nathaniel completely agreed with the Milksop's sentiments, he couldn't help but find it hilarious, how ridiculously low the boy had bowed to her.

His inward laughter, however, completely vanished when Blenkenship held out a hand at Nicola, obviously asking her to a dance. And Nicola, to Nathaniel's further bewilderment, seemed to expect this, and what's worse, she was raising her hand to accept it. She looked dismayed to do it, but she was still doing it!

It was at that moment that Nathaniel thanked the heavens that he had been created curious. Or else, he wouldn't have approached Nicola and the others when he did. Or else, he wouldn't have been close enough to quickly intercept Nicola's hand before it came into contact with the Milksop's.

He watched in amusement as Nicola's eyelids fluttered open to reveal her surprised azure gaze.

"Nicky," he said as he kept his firm grip on her slender hand. "I can't leave you alone for two minutes without your giving away my dances to someone else, can I?"

Nicola's lips stayed slightly agape, enough to convey her utter confusion, but still managing to let her stay within the boundaries of being ladylike.

"Miss Sparks promised _me_ the Sir Roger this morning, sir," the Milksop bleated indignantly.

"Well, Miss Sparks promised it to _me_ last week," Nathaniel answered with all the authority he could muster. But, really, he didn't have to try hard. He was a good head taller than the boy, but even without that physical advantage, Harold Blenkenship was simply no match for Nathaniel Sheridan.

Not waiting for another inquiry, Nathaniel steered Nicola away from the Milksop. He had stolen her from Sebastian Bartholomew, too, which was an added bonus. (Not that Nicola was Bartholomew's to begin with, of course.)

As for Nicola, she was evidently still at a loss for words over what had just transpired. As thankful as Nathaniel was that she let him pull her into the dance floor without protest, her face still spelled out disbelief too much for his liking. _Oh, just play with it!_ Nathaniel silently urged her. He hadn't asked her to save any dances for him, yes, but this was the best he could come up with.

It took several moments for her to collect herself and finally demand, "What do you think you're doing?"

"I believe it is called dancing, Miss Sparks," Nathaniel answered promptly.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Nicola insisted, far from being amused.

"Why, Nicky," Nathaniel said with exaggerated gratitude, "how nice of you to finally acknowledge my intelligence!"

"Oh, you're so full of yourself," Nicola scolded him. "What do you suppose you just did, cutting in on my cousin in such a manner?"

Nathaniel only smiled, even though he knew exactly what she meant. If the hostesses received a complaint that a gentleman had been cut, it spelled out big trouble.

"Don't get yourself all in a tizzy," he told her. "It isn't as if you _wanted_ to dance with him. Why, in that color, he looks exactly like a grape."

Although Nicola tried to assert how socially inappropriate his actions were, Nathaniel simply waved her off noncommitantly.

"I didn't hear you protesting overmuch," he said. "Besides, he won't tell anyone."

Nicola glanced over her shoulder for a moment to see her cousin sulking in the far corner of the room. "How do you know? Don't tell me _Harold_ was at your college in Oxford, too."

Nathaniel grinned, saying, "Not hardly. Let's just say I know his type."

He didn't just say that to appease Nicola, nor did he say it because he thought so. He _knew_ so. Harold Blenkenship didn't have the gall to cause a ruckus in Almack's. He didn't have the gall to do anything, actually, that's why the mere fact that he had asked Nicola to dance at all was such a surprise to Nathaniel. And as if that wasn't enough of a phenomenon, Nicola had actually accepted!

"How did you happen to become trapped into agreeing to dance the Sir Roger with Harold Blenkenship in the first place?" Nathaniel wanted to know.

"Well, he asked me this morning," Nicola said, sighing, as they both moved through the dance formation. "I didn't want to dance with him, you were right, and I wanted so much to tell him that someone had already asked me for the Sir Roger. But I couldn't lie. Who knows what will happen if he found out that I did?"

"Yes, that's true," Nathaniel observed. "But it somehow surprises me that he came to call today. Harold Blenkenship! I didn't think he had the backbone to go to a social gathering, much less ask anyone to dance, and before the gathering at that!"

"He didn't come just to ask me to dance," Nicola admitted. "He came only to accompany Lord Renshaw. It seems that there has been an offer to buy Beckwell Abbey."

_Beckwell Abbey? _Nathaniel thought as he stepped away from her for a moment, as required by the dance. _Sell Beckwell Abbey, Nicola's inheritance from her father?_

"You're not going to sell, are you?" Nathaniel asked once he returned to his position beside her. Nicola's blue eyes turned to him for one moment, and something flickered in their clear, blue depths. But before Nathaniel could place what it was, Nicola indignantly said, "Of course not! I would _never _sell. Even if it _is_ twelve thousand pounds."

"That's probably why your father left the property to you," Nathaniel told her. "He didn't want the land parceled out, and knew your uncle probably wouldn't scruple to do so."

"He isn't my uncle," Nicola corrected him.

"The real question," Nathaniel thought out loud, "is why anyone would be willing to pay so much for what is, from what you describe, a fairly unspectacular piece of real estate."

Nicola agreed with him, before irritatedly saying, "Really, but it's inhuman of the Grouser to expect me to sell. Beckwell Abbey is all I've got."

"It's more than that, isn't it?" Nathaniel asked, shrugging. "It's home."

Nathaniel knew she loved her time at Madame Veuxvincents, and he knew that she enjoyed staying with Eleanor and the rest of the Sheridans. But he also knew that Beckwell Abbey would always be home to Nicola. It was her inheritance from her late parents, and, if anything, it was one thing Nicola treasured in her heart.

Nicola smiled softly, and Nathaniel, for a reason he couldn't put a finger into at the moment, felt proud that he had been partly the reason for her sweet disposition. But then that light, proud feeling in his chest dissipated into the air when Nicola recited, "'I travelled among unknown men, in lands beyong the sea; Nor England! did I know till then, what love I bore to thee!'"

Nathaniel didn't want to, really, but he simply could not stop himself from wincing.

"Would it be too much to ask," he wondered, "that we forgo Wordsworth during the Sir Roger?"

As Nicola tossed her head haughtily at this, Nathaniel silently wished that they could, indeed, just enjoy dancing without such distractions. But then, all too quickly, the Sir Roger ended, and Sebastian Bartholomew, in all his skin-deep glory, came to claim Nicola for the last dance.

Now lacking a dance partner — and not exactly in the mood to look for another one — Nathaniel promptly turned to leave the dance floor. He didn't have to look back at Nicola to know that she was gazing, entranced, at her Lord Sebastian. He knew she was probably blushing at the well-used compliments coming out of the young Viscount's mouth. She probably thought him to be her Lochinvar, or some other unrealistic knight.

But the night wasn't _all_ bad, Nathaniel thought as he dug his hands into his pockets. At least Nathaniel got to be her hero, even if it was merely for rescuing her from the torture of dancing with the Milksop in a hideous purple suit.


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: **_Nicola and the Viscount_ and the events and characters included in the book are not mine. They're all owned by Meg Cabot, and I just play with them.

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR **

Nathaniel didn't know he had it. Honestly, he didn't.

But, today he discovered: he had a big mouth.

Miss Amelia Spurgeon, a cousin of Lady Sheridan's, had come to visit for luncheon, much to everyone's surprise. Miss Spurgeon wasn't Nathaniel's favorite relative, and Lady Sheridan had glared at him quite sharply when he winced upon notification of the older lady's presence. Lady Sheridan wasn't especially fond of her, either, but since they were family, the Sheridans welcomed her visit warmly.

Miss Surgeon wasn't irritable, actually. As Eleanor had observed, she would choose her over the Grouser anytime. However, Miss Spurgeon was still a bit meddling about things, and sometimes she was too opinionated. She only wanted to help, they were all sure, but Lord Sheridan had always voiced out — once the family alone again, of course — that Miss Amelia needed to tone her "enthusiasm" down a bit.

True to her nature, Miss Spurgeon was very enthusiastic during luncheon.

"So, Nathaniel," Miss Spurgeon said, smiling widely, as she carefully sliced her steak. "Where were you this morning? I think I might have missed you when I arrived."

"Ah, I went to the bookstore with a friend," Nathaniel replied.

"Oh?" Miss Spurgeon asked as if he had said something thoroughly interesting. And, to Miss Spurgeon, perhaps it _was_ interesting. "Escorting a lady friend, are you?"

Nathaniel nearly choked on his bread at this, but he disguised it with a polite laugh. "Ah, no, Miss Spurgeon," he replied. "I was at the bookstore with Sir John Beckett." It was only later that afternoon that he realized that he could have stopped there. But, no, he didn't, and instead continued to say, "We chanced upon Miss Ashton and her cousin, too, but I wouldn't call it escorting the ladies..."

Yes, he actually _should_ have just said that he accompanied Sir John, and stopped there. He really should have.

"Ah, Miss Stella Ashton," Miss Spurgeon said, her eyes brightening even more. "Such a pretty girl. Quite a good choice, Nathaniel."

It took about one full second for Nathaniel to realize what their guest was saying. "Er... I'm not... Um..."

"Are you not courting Stella, Nathaniel?" Miss Spurgeon queried. "Why ever not? She's a nice young lady."

"Yes, she is, but—"

"I believe I've seen you with her at Almack's," Miss Spurgeon continued as if Nathaniel had not tried to speak. "It's a good match, if I may say so myself. And, are you not already of age to marry? Really, Nathaniel, you should be thinking more seriously about settling down. Are you still uneasy about taking friendships with the ladies to the next level? You really shouldn't. A handsome young man like you should not hesitate!"

"I don't think he's hesitating, Amelia—"

"Oh, of course, he isn't, my lord," Miss Spurgeon answered Lord Sheridan quickly before turning back to Nathaniel. "But whatever _is_ keeping you, Nathaniel? If you would like, I can speak to Lady Ashton about this— Oh, but unless you have somebody else in mind?"

Nathaniel, who had stammered at Miss Spurgeon's mere suggestion of him courting a lady, had presently been rendered speechless by the older woman's last question. He was _sure_ she was going to ask him about Nicola now. If Miss Spurgeon had noticed Nathaniel with Stella Ashton when he was merely speaking with her, then surely she saw him dancing the Sir Roger de Coverley with Nicola Sparks!

"Really, dear cousin, but I do believe it's too early to be making such arrangements," the Lady Sheridan said most graciously, much to Nathaniel's relief. "Miss Ashton had only debuted recently, and she and Nathaniel are only starting to establish friendship. My husband and I think it's better if we let them go at their own pace."

Lady Sheridan paused, and Nathaniel was sure he saw a serious look descend on her eyes as she looked straight at their guest. "I do hope we won't be hearing gossip being whispered about our son and Miss Ashton... You do understand, don't you, Amelia?"

"Oh, of course, of course!" Miss Spurgeon said, still smiling widely. "I was just speculating."

"Of course," Lady Sheridan said, smiling herself.

At this, Nathaniel was able to breathe freely. If there was anything he loved about Miss Spurgeon, it was that she kept her word. She never was a gossiping lady, despite the fact that she looked like one. Chances were there would be no mention of the possibility of a Sheridan-Ashton engagement from her until it actually came to pass— _if_ it came to pass. The only thing Nathaniel had to do next was evade her questions about his bachelorhood for the rest of the afternoon.

He needn't have worried, though, as Miss Spurgeon said, still animatedly, "There was something going on in Euston Square. I saw a crowd about as I passed by."

"Yes, there's a locomotive," Nathaniel replied, eager to change the subject.

"A locomotive!" Phillip exclaimed. "Right here in London?"

"Sir John and I saw it," Nathaniel said, nodding. "The size is smaller than the ones they use to transport coal, though."

"May we go and see it, Papa?" Phillip asked, practically bouncing in his seat. "May we? May we, may we?"

The Lord Sheridan laughed, saying, "Yes, Phillip, we may, after luncheon. Isn't that right, dear?"

"Yes, after luncheon," Lady Sheridan said, nodding. "But finish your peas first, Phillip, and please stop bouncing in your chair. Gentlemen don't bounce."

And so, it was that the Sheridans all went to Euston Square to see what the commotion was about. Miss Spurgeon, however, went on her way after luncheon, saying that she could do without seeing the machines. She was quite the opposite of Phillip, who was, again, overtaken by excitement when he saw the train. It was just as Nathaniel had described: it was exactly a train, but with small pony carts behind it for people to ride. They had barely gotten off their carriage when Phillip enthusiastically asked for permission to ride the train, which, they later learned, was called the _Catch Me Who Can_.

"Oh, you can't be serious," Lady Sheridan said when the Lord Sheridan said yes to the boy. "We don't even know if that thing is safe!"

"But, Mama," Eleanor said as Nathaniel helped her step down their carriage, "they won't be letting people ride it if it wasn't safe."

"Surely you're not thinking of riding it, too, Eleanor. Are you not concerned with your dress?"

At that reminder, Eleanor looked down on her silk skirt, looking quite concerned indeed.

"That smoke looks too white to come from coal," Nathaniel observed. "It may just be steam, and Eleanor's dress won't get soiled."

"And what if it's not, Nathaniel, would you be responsible enough to wash her clothes for her?"

"Now, now, dear," Lord Sheridan began. "There's no question in Nat's sense of responsibility."

"No, but there's a question in Eleanor riding this machine," Lady Sheridan declared. "It will be like riding a horse that has not been broken yet!"

Despite her frown, Nathaniel saw motherly worry shine through Lady Sheridan's disapproving look. She was probably thinking that, since she had no other excuse to keep her boys from riding the train, she was holding on very, very tightly to Eleanor. Well, who could blame her? Although Lady Sheridan, too, had been intrigued to see the train, letting her children ride a curious machine was another story.

As for Eleanor, she looked so disappointed — especially standing beside the excited Phillip — that Nathaniel turned to her, saying, "The man who made this locomotive said that they'll soon be making engines like this big enough so that people can ride them to cross the country. When that day comes, I'll take you, all right, Ellie?"

Eleanor's old nickname had escaped his lips unexpectedly — he had stopped using it when Eleanor turned 10, right around the time she stopped looking at him as if he was her hero — but it seemed to do the trick, as her hazel eyes brightened up some.

"Will you really, Nat?"

"Of course," Nathaniel said confidently grinning. "Did I ever promise you something and didn't do it?"

"You boys best get on the line and get this over with," the Lady Sheridan told Nathaniel, impatience peppering her tone. Her eyes, though, had a small yet unmistakeable twinkle in them.

Not waiting to be told twice, Phillip tugged on Nathaniel's hand to join the line of people wanting to get on the train. Nathaniel laughed, letting his brother pull him along. They were standing in line for barely a second when he heard his sister calling.

But it wasn't Nathaniel she was calling.

"Nicky!" she cried, making Nathaniel turn to her sharply. He almost involuntarily asked, "Nicky? Where?" out loud, but was able to catch himself just in time to find Nicola where she stood: right in front of Nathaniel. And standing beside (who else?) Lord Sebastian Bartholomew. As Nicola and Eleanor greeted each other, Nathaniel noticed when the blond Viscount side-glance him, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly to form a smirk.

The man was _gloating_!!!

Nathaniel simply narrowed his eyes at his nemesis, and, really, it was all he could do not to shove the other man away from Nicola. After all, as far as everyone else was concerned, Lord Sebastian Bartholomew was _perfect_, and therefore Nathaniel would be found to be the one at fault if he did anything brash. As an added precaution, Nathaniel also tried his best to keep his big mouth shut. It had gotten him into enough trouble that morning with Miss Spurgeon; he didn't want to risk the possibility of Nicola getting angry at him for insulting her Lord Sebastian right in front of her.

But still, Nathaniel could not help but frown. He didn't even bother smiling at Nicola when her blue eyes turned to look at him before she went to talk with Phillip. Well, how could he smile? The Viscount Farnsworth was taking Nicola to a train ride, where they would get on a car, _just the two of them_. For some reason he could not determine at the moment, this situation was terribly unsettling for Nathaniel. It was brotherly protectiveness, probably, sending out an alarm that Sebastian Bartholomew was most likely going to take advantage of this situation to get close to Nicola.

Brotherly protectiveness. Yes, that was probably it.

Well, the good thing was that he was to sit behind Sebastian and Nicola, so Nathaniel could keep an eye on them, aside from doing so with his brother.

It wasn't long before the man operating the _Catch Me Who Can_ turned to them and called "Ne-ext!"

Once settled in their seats, Nathaniel stole a glance at Nicola, who was fingering her dress. Eleanor probably told her about her fear of her dress getting dirty. For one moment, Nathaniel wondered if it truly _was_ steam that was coming out of the funnel. He might have been wrong, after all.

He wasn't able to ponder over this, though, as the man at the controls hollered, "Hold on!"

The train jerked rather violently, causing Phillip to emit a small squeak of thrilled surprise. Nathaniel himself was startled for a moment, and, once he regained his bearings, he was met with a less-than-desirable sight.

_Ha! I **knew** it!_ Nathaniel thought, his frown going deeper, as he glared at the back of Sebastian Bartholomew's head. _That manipulative prick...!_

Nathaniel had been sure that Bartholomew was going to try something. And try something, he did, as he had put an arm around Nicola's shoulders. As opposed to Nathaniel, though, Nicola did not expect the Viscount to do what he did. In her surprise, she turned to her escort, only to find herself almost nose-to-nose with the young man. Nathaniel felt himself almost growling, but he tried to suppressed it, not wanting to spoil the ride for his younger brother.

The train jerked once more, and then, much to Phillip's delight, the machine began to pick up speed.

"We must be going at ten miles an hour!" he bellowed gleefully.

As Nathaniel watched the two sitting in the other car — how could he not when they were right there in front of him? — he found that he had mixed feelings regarding his location. True, it was an advantage because he could watch out for Nicola. But it also meant, Nathaniel realized with a rather disturbing pang, that he would have to bear witness to her relaxing in Sebastian Bartholomew's arms, smiling brightly as she enjoyed an exciting ride on the _Catch Me Who Can_. And he had to endure that instead of enjoying the ride himself.

The train eventually chugged to a halt, and the passengers tumbled out of the cars, mostly smiling and praising the owner of the train for such a contraption. Phillip, as expected, wasted no time before running back to the line.

"Let's have another go at it, Nat!"

Nathaniel was just about to answer Phillip when he heard Nicola's voice behind him.

"That was positively glorious!" she said, practically glowing. Her sapphire eyes met Nathaniel's hazel gaze, and, in that moment, he knew _exactly _what she was thinking. She wanted to go on the train again! As much as Nathaniel liked seeing her so happy, he had not intention of giving Nicola to Bartholomew on a plate. Unfortunately, though, Nathaniel could not steal her away from her escort like he did at Almack's. He had no socially acceptable reason to, plus he had Phillip to mind.

Doing the only other thing he could do at the moment, Nathaniel shot her a disapproving look, to which she replied with silent indignation.

"Nicola!" Lady Honoria exclaimed, rushing towards them. "How was it?"

"It was perfectly delightful!" Nicola gushed as if she was not frowning mere seconds ago. "And I intend to do it again."

The Lord Farelly laughed at Nicola's enthusiasm and began to speak about how the train just might well be man's greatest invention. Nicola drank all of this in, her sparkling blue eyes getting more interested with the machine, and Nathaniel expected that the Lord Farelly, the enthusiast for locomotive that he was, would approve, if not strongly encourage, Nicola to have another ride.

"If you are quite finished, Jarvis," the Lady Farelly cut in a bit sharply, "might we go home now? I quite long for my lamb cutlet, which you so cruelly forced me to abandon in order to accompany you on this little... jaunt."

The Lord Farelly declared that they could and would go home now. And, after bidding the Farellys good-bye, Phillip once again pulled Nathaniel towards the line to ride the train. Eleanor, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten all about wanting to ride the machine, as she was noticeably giddy over all the Farnsworth's-arm-around-Nicola's-shoulders business.

As for Nathaniel, his last thought as he watched Nicola disappear into the crowd was, _God bless Lady Farelly!  
_

* * *

** From the Author: **Just a quick note right here... Miss Amelia Spurgeon is brought to life by my crazy brain. She wasn't in the book. I just thought she'd be fun to have around._  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER: **_Nicola and the Viscount_ and the events and characters included in the book are not mine. They're all owned by Meg Cabot, and I just play with them.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE **

"Eleanor, did you—"

"NAT!" Eleanor squeaked, one hand flying to her chest, near her heart. "Have you never heard of knocking?!"

Nathaniel, who had stopped in his tracks at his sister's outburst, only raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I've heard of knocking," he said. "You and Mother complain about it all the time."

"That's because you never do it!" Eleanor huffed, crossing her arms. She nodded to Mirabelle, her French maid, who had been assisting Eleanor in fixing her hair. As Mirabelle left the room with a small bow, Eleanor turned her attention back to her brother. "Really, but it's just irritating that you can't get it through that skull of yours to knock before entering a room."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes as he strode to sit by Eleanor's window. "Well, if you didn't want people to enter the room, then you shouldn't leave the door open."

"Is it too much to ask that you warn us of your grand entrance, Nat?" Eleanor asked as she resumed looking at herself in the mirror.

"But, see, I _did_ warn you of my arrival," Nathaniel pointed out. "I said, 'Eleanor' as I came in."

"Believe what you must," Eleanor said irritatedly, giving her upswept hair a small pat. "And to what do I owe the honor of your presence?"

"I only wanted to ask if you remembered to reply to Sir Hugh's note," Nathaniel said, glancing outside to check the sky. The sun was shining quite nicely, but there were enough clouds to provide shade. It looked like the weather was perfect for riding, Nathaniel observed.

Sir Hugh had, earlier that week, written to ask permission to take Eleanor riding around the park that day. This was not the first instance that he did, too; he and Eleanor had gone riding for a few times.

Ever since their first outing, Eleanor had asked Nathaniel to be their chaperone, partly because he was her older brother, but, for the most part, it was because Sir Hugh was Nathaniel's friend. Nathaniel had only discovered the second reason several days ago, when he insisted that Eleanor tell him why she so wanted him to ride with her and Sir Hugh. After all, he had expected their mother, who always did what was proper, to insist it, but Eleanor? Nathaniel had never heard of a girl, one who was being called upon by a true gentleman, to practically beg her older brother to be a chaperone.

Eleanor had not wanted to admit her motivation for her request, but after several rounds of bickering (and Nathaniel threatening that he would not anymore accompany her the next time Sir Hugh asked her to go riding), she finally relented, and told him the truth. Nathaniel was quite amused to find out that Eleanor had, for quite some time now, harbored a secret admiration for Sir Hugh Parker. She had seen him a few times with Nathaniel and their other friends, but it had always been from afar. And now that he was calling upon Eleanor, it seemed that she didn't quite know how to act around him.

"Just be yourself!" Nathaniel had told her, laughing. "You don't have to act in any special way. Courtship is supposed to be that stage where two people get to know each other. What's the use of a putting on a show?"

"Oh, but, Nat!" Eleanor had cried. "I'd surely be so nervous; I won't be able to be myself! Please, _please_ come with us? At least you'll be there in case we run out of things to say to each other."

Nathaniel eventually agreed to chaperone them as long as Eleanor needed, although he did assert firmly that he couldn't be present to be her comfort zone forever.

So now, here they were, waiting for Sir Hugh to arrive. Eleanor was still examining herself on the mirror, although Nathaniel could not imagine what on earth she was examining still. To Nathaniel, she looked lovely already, and she didn't need to pat her upswept hair so many times. He never could understand how women were so fussy about the tiniest details. Like Nicola, for example. He had overheard her bemoan her freckles countless times, whereas Nathaniel thought that her freckles were just fine. Adorable, even.

"Of course I replied to Sir Hugh," Eleanor said, answering his earlier question. "How silly do you think I am?"

"Silly enough," Nathaniel said, grinning.

He had said it flippantly, of course, and he had not meant the comment to be degrading in any way. To his surprise though, Eleanor gave a dismayed cry as she buried her face in her hands.

"Eleanor!" Nathaniel exclaimed, jumping from his perch by the window. "What's wrong? What did I say?"

"Oh, but I _am_ silly, aren't I, Nat?" she lamented. "This won't work, it simply won't!"

"What? What won't work?"

"Sir Hugh surely thinks I'm so childish and silly!" Eleanor explained hurriedly. "He probably just calls to be polite to you since you're his friend and all, and he probably knows you won't like it if he disappointed me because I'm your sister, and he's probably just waiting for me to decline him! Oh, Nat, I'm sure of it!"

Despite the fact that Eleanor had looked so endearingly perturbed at the moment — or perhaps it was _precisely_ because she was so upset over her suspicions — Nathaniel rolled his eyes as he kneeled in front of Eleanor and took her shoulders.

"Ellie," he said, chuckling a bit. He had been using that name quite frequently ever since that day in Euston Square, and Nathaniel found it most handy in situations like this. "Yes, I suppose you _are_ silly, but you are charmingly so. As I said, you're silly _enough_. You're not childish— well, you were, I suppose— but you're not so much so anymore."

"But... But Sir Hugh is such a kind, witty, clever and handsome gentleman—"

"Eleanor," Nathaniel cut in, not quite comfortable hearing his sister gush about his friend. He knew that Sir Hugh indeed possessed those qualities, but Nathaniel would have preferred it if Eleanor didn't act so... _girly_... about a man in front of him. She could do that with other girls. Oh, where was Nicola when Nathaniel needed her?

"Eleanor, you said it yourself: Sir Hugh is my friend," Nathaniel told her. "Don't you think that maybe I would know if he was sincere about something or not?"

"I... I suppose so."

"And, besides," Nathaniel said, smiling, "he isn't the type to be _forced_ into doing anything. Trust me."

Eleanor smiled at this, her doubts quelled. "I guess you're right," she said, nodding.

"Of course I'm right," was all Nathaniel said as he stood up.

"By the way, Nat," Eleanor began, apparently back to her normal self, "if you don't mind me asking, what's going on with you and Stella Ashton?"

"What's this?" Nathaniel asked, raising an eyebrow, "Is Miss Spurgeon your new role model?"

"Oh, hush," Eleanor scolded him, swatting his hand that was resting on her dressing table, near her brush. "I just noticed that you've been dancing with her at Almack's quite frequently, that's all. Seeing that you practically wrung me into admitting my feelings for Sir Hugh, won't it only be fair if I knew your romantic issues, as well?"

"There's nothing romantic between Stella and I," Nathaniel said honestly. "She's a fine lady, down to earth and fun to talk to. I suppose you can call us friends, but I don't see us being anything else at the moment."

"Well, I think you'd better get a move on, Nat," Eleanor said, sounding less and less silly by the minute. "Whether it's Stella Ashton or somebody else."

Although what Eleanor said was true, Nathaniel chuckled, saying, "Are you sure you're not spending time with Miss Spurgeon behind my back?"

"Nat, I'm serious!" Eleanor insisted. "Don't joke about this. Gentlemen your age are already setting their sights on the ladies. Even Harold Blenkenship seems to be making efforts to woo Nicky!"

"Oh, is he, now?" Nathaniel asked, laughing. "Well, I thoroughly pity Mr. Blenkenship. She'd probably say no in less than heartbeat."

"Nat, don't say that about our Nicky," Eleanor said, but her lips curved into a small smile. "I'm sure she would take at least a second to think how she could turn him down graciously."

"Ha! I highly doubt it," Nathaniel scoffed. "I'm ready to bet she'd laugh at that boy. As ladylike as Nicky is trying to be now, she's still a bossy orphan girl who always got what she wanted. And if she didn't, she would make a way to get it. Cousin or no, I'm sure Nicky wouldn't want to marry Harold Blenkenship, even if he as a Baron's son. It just isn't the fairytale that she would want. And besides, Nicky would probably want a knight, perhaps someone like the annoying git."

"The annoying git?"

"Sebastian Bartholomew."

With a sigh on her lips, Eleanor turned around in her seat. "Really, Nat, why must you have this prejudice against Lord Sebastian?"

_Prejudice shmejudice!_

"Because he's a gambler and a womanizer who wasted his time in Oxford, which he didn't deserve in the first place. Why, he never opened a book his whole time there!"

"How would _you_ know?" Eleanor asked pointedly, although her accusing tone had lessened. She was evidently shocked about his 'womanizer' comment, but was probably still in denial, trying to protect her friend's infatuation.

"Remember that he was in my college," Nathaniel answered readily, crossing his arms on his chest. "I know he performed poorly in class. And, besides, what good student sneered at others around him being studious? If he even studied even for a bit, why would he laugh when others read their books? The only reason he passed is because of the rowing team, and probably because some of the professors were intimidated by his title, with him being a Viscount and a future Earl. That git isn't worthy of an exceptional, brave and beautiful girl like Nicky. Not in the least. He's been taking all his blessings for granted, and I'm sure he won't treat Nicky like she deserved, either. She's better off without him."

With his speech done, Nathaniel gave a final huff, a lock of his hair falling on his forehead as he turned away to look out the window again. At the back of his mind, he knew that Eleanor was right, that he shouldn't be so antagonistic towards Sebastian Bartholomew. Now that he thought about it, despite his dislike for the viscount, Nathaniel had never really been so _angry_ at him. Before, he couldn't care less what Bartholomew thought or did, but, recently, the animosity between the two young men had peculiarly reached a new level.

A carriage passed by on the street below, the horses' hooves loudly clapping on the cobblestone. Finally noticing the utter silence that had settled in Eleanor's room, Nathaniel turned to his sister to find her still sitting at her dressing table, just as she had been the last several minutes. She did, however, have this strange look upon her beautiful face.

"What?" Nathaniel asked, slightly unnerved by her stunned silence.

"Nat," Eleanor said, almost whispering. "Nat, you're... you're not..."

"I'm not... what?"

Instead of answering her brother, though, Eleanor's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, as if she was in the process of believing something that was simply unbelievable. Her shock had obviously faded, though, as a small smile slowly, ever so slowly, crept upon her lips while her hazel eyes continued to stare at him.

"I'm not _what_, Eleanor?"

"Oh my goodness," Eleanor exclaimed, smiling widely at last, "Nat, you are!"

"I'm _what_?" Nathaniel asked more urgently, notably curious... and slightly piqued. First he wasn't, and, not one minute later, he was? (Whatever that thing he was or wasn't was. Good grief, nothing was making sense at the moment, wasn't it?)

Getting impatient to know just what made Eleanor act so strangely, Nathaniel was about to demand for an explanation when Mirabelle knocked on the door politely.

"Begging your pardon, monsieur, mademoiselle," she said, holding out Eleanor's bonnet and parasol, "but Sir Hugh Parker has just arrived."

Eleanor stood up promptly, thanking Mirabelle.

"Come now, Nat," she said, glancing over her shoulder as she stepped out of the room, "we mustn't make Sir Hugh wait, hm?"

Nathaniel sighed, resigning himself to just make her explain later. He just hated it when Eleanor knew something he didn't because as her older brother, _he_ was supposed to know everything, and _she_ was supposed to ask him to explain things to her.

And know something, she did, for that mischievous sparkle never left her eyes, even as she greeted Sir Hugh good morning.

* * *

**From the Author: **Mehehehe. And I bet you all know what Eleanor just figured out. Heeheehee. 

Okay, so I know that it didn't say in the book that Eleanor had a crush on Sir Hugh, but since it didn't say that she didn't like him, either, I just thought I'd give them a bit of history. And, yes, I know that in the book, it was implied that Lady Sheridan was the one who insisted on Nathaniel chaperoning... But... well, it's just more fun this way.

The next chapter seems a bit tricky, though. I hope I can update as fast as I just did.

And, yeah. A review would be nice, my friends. :þ


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER: **_Nicola and the Viscount_ and the events and characters included in the book are not mine. They're all owned by Meg Cabot, and I just play with them.

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**CHAPTER SIX **

It was one of those things that just clicked into place.

Nathaniel had met Sir John Beckett on his first day at Oxford, when he moved into the dormitory. Sir John was passing by the entrance when Nathaniel arrived, and it was a happy coincidence that the first student Nathaniel met happened to be his own roommate in the dormitory. Sir John informed him that was the last one to arrive in the room, an event Nathaniel had completely blamed on Eleanor being silly before they left; she wanted so much to come with him and Lord Sheridan so she could see Oxford. Sir John was already fully settled in the room, so he helped Nathaniel and Lord Sheridan bring in his belongings. Eleanor tagged along behind them, carrying Lord Sheridan's cane, and proudly at that.

When they arrived in what was to be Nathaniel's room, it was Sir Hugh Parker who greeted them, chuckling at Eleanor when she hid behind Nathaniel. Sir Hugh came to Oxford to study literature, like Sir John. Although mathematics and literature were two very different fields, the three young men got along quite handsomely, for both Literature students sympathized with Nathaniel's avoidance of poetry. Even though Sir Hugh's writing style oftentimes included detailed — and some called it poetic — descriptions of the scene in which the characters are to move about, all three gentlemen agreed that prose was much better than poetry.

That was one of the many reasons why Nathaniel was friends with Sir Hugh and Sir John.

Sir John's mother was an avid reader, and they had a gigantic library in their estate, arranged on the genre of writing. It was her passion for books that Sir John inherited. His father, on the other hand, was an accountant, so he had received training in business even as a young boy. Because of this, he was quite good with numbers, and sometimes thumbed through Nathaniel's books to pick up a lesson or two.

As for Sir Hugh, he was naturally a magician of words. He frequently read, or sometimes even acted out, his stories for his two roommates to critique. Nathaniel thought that Sir Hugh was a master of intertwining his everyday experiences with fabricated worlds, being the immensely observant man that he was.

Not a lot escaped Sir Hugh's keen eyes and ears, and he easily remembered the tiniest details. Why, just the other day, when he came to visit, Nathaniel was reminded just how observant his friend was.

Phillip had, right in the middle of Nathaniel and Sir Hugh's chess game, begged Nathaniel to go horseback riding with him. Nathaniel had so absently muttered that sometimes he didn't know what to do with Phillip that he didn't think Sir Hugh would pay attention. The blond gentleman did, however.

"Well, _I_ don't have any siblings," he had said, smiling as they made their way to the stables, with Phillip jogging ahead of them. "I rather think you're blessed with two of them."

"I think I'm blessed, too," Nathaniel had answered. "But sometimes... Well... I won't even finish that sentence."

Sir Hugh chuckled at that, saying, "You know, I've always wished I had a sister. And if I did, I had always imagined her to be a bit of a drama queen. Or maybe even bossy."

"Ha. You ought to meet Nicky, then," Nathaniel told him, "I won't be surprised if you found your imagined sister in her."

"Miss Nicola Sparks, eh? I do believe we've never been introduced," Sir Hugh had said, grinning. "Wasn't she that lovely lady that you so openly stared at that night at Almack's?"

At this, Nathaniel no less than froze. He had almost forgotten about that! Good grief, now that Sir Hugh had mentioned it, Nathaniel was reminded of how beautiful she look that night, and how that image had occupied his thoughts for days.

"No pun intended, of course," Sir Hugh added, unaffected by — or perhaps completely satisfied with — Nathaniel's reaction. "Your mouth was only _slightly_ opened. No need to worry."

Although sometimes it momentarily irritated Nathaniel how Sir Hugh chuckled at nearly everything, he and Sir John agreed that this was one of their friend's best qualities. It was truly impressive, his ability to always be lightheartedly calm and collected when everyone else around him was either in panic or nearly pulling their hair out in frustration. Sir Hugh handled all instability in stride, but he did it without looking stiff.

That's why, when he asked permission to call on Eleanor, Nathaniel couldn't help but think how perfect it would be. Not only would their temperaments match, but he also knew he could trust Sir Hugh to take care of Eleanor. (Let it be known, however, that Nathaniel still had a word with Sir Hugh to ensure that his friend truly _would_ take care of his only sister.)

True enough, Eleanor's silliness had noticeably lessened since she met Sir Hugh. She needn't have worried about it at all like she did earlier that morning. At that very moment, as she shared a laugh with Sir Hugh over something Nathaniel wasn't exactly listening to, she made Nathaniel smile, for she was not at all being silly, but still managed to be the adorable Ellie that he grew up with.

"Nat!" she suddenly called in a slightly strangled whisper. "Nat, isn't that the Milksop?"

Nathaniel followed Eleanor's gaze, and saw that, indeed, the Milksop was riding a phaeton towards their direction. Harold Blenkenship didn't seem to have seen them, and, since the carriages weren't so close, either, none of the occupants of Sir Hugh's four-seated curricle bothered to call the pale boy's attention when they passed each other. And, amazingly, he looked paler than usual.

"Hm... Quite disgruntled, wasn't he?" Sir Hugh asked once the other carriage was out of earshot.

"Yes, I believe so," Nathaniel agreed.

There was silence for several seconds, until Sir Hugh turned to Eleanor, saying in a laughing voice, "The Milksop?"

"Oh!" Eleanor exclaimed, her cheeks taking on a pink color when she realized that she had let the name slip. "It's... Um... That is... You see, Mr. Blenkenship is Nicola's cousin, and... Er... We have a nickname for him... somewhat."

Nathaniel leaned his chin on his palm to stop himself from laughing at Eleanor's stammered answer. Sir Hugh, of course, only continued smiling, though he was evidently amused with the lady sitting beside him.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with nicknames, is there?" he said.

"Er... No, I suppose not."

Again, there was a comfortable silence inside Sir Hugh's carriage, and the sounds of the park were nothing but relaxing. But then Eleanor gave a gasp as she exclaimed, "Oh my... It's Nicky!"

At this, Nathaniel sat up, and, following Eleanor's gaze for the second time, saw that it was, indeed, Miss Nicola Sparks who was on the path ahead.

"Speed up a bit, will you, Parker?" Nathaniel requested.

"Of course," Sir Hugh replied with a bit of concern, as he prompted his horses into a trot.

"Nicky!" Eleanor cried when they had caught up with her. Upon hearing her name, Nicola turned around, a delighted look gracing her face when she saw who had called her. "Whatever are you doing, walking by yourself, and along this dusty path? And was that the Milksop we just passed?"

"It was indeed," Nicola said. "I was forced to abandon his carriage, as he insulted me quite dreadfully."

"Insulted you?" Eleanor asked, looking shocked.

"Then you had better get in with us where it's safe," Sir Hugh said, grinning as he threw Nathaniel a glance. "Hadn't she, Sheridan?"

"Indeed," Nathaniel said, leaning forward to open the door and alight from the curricle. As Nicola accepted his proffered hand, he couldn't help notice how soft her slender hand was, and, as she stepped up and into the curricle, how delightfully sweet her scent was. That lavender fragrance that seemed to envelope her, Nathaniel recently observed, which was almost too faint, sometimes he wasn't sure if it was really there or not. It was haunting, intoxicating...

...and it was something Nathaniel _really_ should _not_ be thinking about.

Clearing his throat, Nathaniel quickly got in the curricle again and seated himself beside Nicola. Thankfully, Sir Hugh was quipping something about how dangerous it was for Nicola to be without an escort, so no one seemed to notice his momentary state of... well... whatever just happened to him.

What on earth _had_ just happened to him?

Nathaniel wasn't able to ponder this, however, as Nicola's sapphire eyes turned to him. It was only for a second, because she quickly looked at Sir Hugh, but Nathaniel needed no more than a second to see the slight confusion and surprise in her eyes, and determine what caused it.

"Miss Sparks," he said to her, finding the need to be formal in order to distract himself from his previous thoughts. "May I present Sir Hugh Parker? Sir Hugh, my sister's particular friend, Miss Sparks."

"What a good thing we happened along," Eleanor said after Sir Hugh and Eleanor shook hands. "What, precisely, did your cousin do to insult you, Nicky? He wasn't bothering you about selling the abbey again, was he?"

At this, Nathaniel gave Nicola his full attention. If need be, he would, without delay, request Sir Hugh to turn the curricle around and chase after the Milksop so Nathaniel could give the boy a piece of his mind. He made sure, though, that he skillfully hid his interest, because Nicola didn't need to see the protectiveness that was bubbling inside him. It was just brotherly protectiveness, after all.

Brotherly protectiveness. That was all it was.

"Oh, no," Nicola said, answering Eleanor. "This time all he wanted was for me to marry him."

Eleanor let out a polite scream of disbelief, and Sir Hugh chuckled some more. (Nathaniel was sure of it now: his friend was probably wishing that Nicola was his sister.) Perhaps it was because he and Eleanor had discussed it in passing earlier that day, but the news did not at all surprise Nathaniel. All he did in response was shoot her a penetrating look, saying, "I take it all the answer the poor fellow received was no."

"He isn't a poor fellow at all, Nathaniel Sheridan," she said defensively, "and don't go trying to garner sympathy for him. It wasn't only that he had the impertinence to ask when, clearly, he's the last man in the world anyone would want to marry. It was the way he asked. Why, all he said was that he was _fond_ of me."

Sir Hugh laughed outright at that, and, honestly, Nathaniel would have laughed, himself. But, given his assessment of the full picture of the situation, Nathaniel crossed his arms and leaned back into his seat, unable to keep one of his eyebrows from rising.

"Let me guess," he said. "You'd have preferred to have heard something more along the lines of 'Would that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek'?"

Nicola threw him a narrow-eyed glance, and Nathaniel steeled himself to hear a rather sharp reply (or perhaps a slippered foot stomping his own), but all Nicola primly said was, "A little Shakespeare wouldn't hurt anybody. But if you think that my cousin Harold could have proposed to me in any manner that might have induced me to accept him, you are deluded. Still... well, a _few_ compliments might have helped."

Nathaniel sank himself further in his seat, directing his angry glare towards the distant trees as Eleanor spoke to Nicola.

Again, poetry! Was that the only thing she ever wanted? He remembered Eleanor mentioning Sebastian Bartholomew being a poetry-lover. Ha! Was he really? From what Nathaniel knew about him, he was ready to bet that Sebastian Bartholomew didn't even care about poetry; the Narcissus was too preoccupied with impressing everyone with his rowing prowess to bother. But, given his habit of putting on a mask to look like anything his current "female interest" wanted, Nathaniel wondered if perhaps the viscount read poetry for Nicola while she lounged by the Bartholomews' lush gardens.

Nathaniel's brooding was cut short when he heard Eleanor's voice calling his name, and he turned to her, raising an eyebrow to wordlessly ask what she had just said.

"Wouldn't you, Nat?"

"Wouldn't I what?"

"Wouldn't you hate to see Nicky married to a man who was her intellectual and moral inferior?" Eleanor hissed, raising her own eyebrow at him meaningfully.

Nathaniel, however, failed to catch the hidden message she was trying so hard to convey. She seemed to think that he would immediately understand her, because she appeared to want very much to kick him for not comprehending her unspoken point.

And then, like a lightning, it hit him: she meant Sebastian Bartholomew.

Yes, if there was anybody else aside from the Milksop who was Nicky's intellectual and moral inferior, and who so happened to be presently connected with her, then it was the Viscount Farnsworth. Perhaps Eleanor was giving him the cue to correct Nicola's fatal misconception about the viscount!

"I suppose so," Nathaniel said finally, straightening up. A lock of his hair fell into his eyes, but he gave it no mind. This opportunity was golden: the topic would flow smoothly into their conversation, he had Eleanor's blessing, and, since Sir Hugh shared Nathaniel's sentiments about Bartholomew, the gentleman would no doubt testify that Nathaniel was telling the truth, in case Nicola didn't believe him.

"See here, Nicky," he began in a serious tone. That was all he was able to say, however, because a familiar voice called, from quite close by, "I say! Miss Sparks! Is that you?"

All four occupants of Sir Hugh's curricle turned to see Sebastian Bartholomew pull up in a phaeton. Nicola's beautiful face, as if to fulfill Nathaniel's dreaded prediction, brightened at the sight of her hostess' brother.

And, as easily as that, Nathaniel's day was ruined.

"I didn't know you were seeing the Sheridans today," the viscount said to Nicola, after greetings had been exchanged all around. "Honoria said something about you going riding with Harold Blenkenship."

As Nicola briefly recounted how she was rescued, Nathaniel suppressed a sigh at how _perfect_ Bartholomew's timing was. Could he not have appeared after Nathaniel was able to tell Nicola how flawed the viscount's character was?

"I never pictured you in the role of knight errant, Sheridan," Bartholomew said. "Surprised to see you lift your head out of your books long enough to give it a go."

"Surprised to see you can make your way about town without an oar stuck up either sleeve, Bartholomew," Nathaniel replied easily.

The viscount, much to Nathaniel's satisfaction, began to turn red. Well, if he couldn't expose Bartholomew's true colors today, then Nathaniel would settle for the next best thing.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Sir Hugh said, in his joking way. "Hadn't we better move along? We're holding up traffic here..."

"Damn my eyes if he isn't right," Bartholomew said, glancing at the carriages lined up behind his.

_Right. So bye-bye now, Bartholomew,_ Nathaniel thought.

"Come, Miss Sparks," the viscount said, going against Nathaniel's unspoken wishes, "I know you'll be eager to be getting home, and I'm going there now."

"Oh, thank you, my lord," Nicola replied, rising to leave Sir Hugh's carriage.

"You needn't go," Nathaniel told her, not moving from his position. "We'll take you home, Nicky."

"Oh, thank you. But it's out of your way."

"Sir Hugh doesn't mind," Nathaniel said. "Do you, Sir Hugh?"

"If you say so, Sheridan," came Sir Hugh's ready reply. And that, Nathaniel thought, was one of the many reasons why Sir Hugh was his friend.

"Really," Nicola said, still very much a lady despite the protests from the carriages behind theirs. "It's too kind of you. But Lord Sebastian is going right home. And I am expected soon. Lady Honoria and I are... are going to Grafton House, to look at buttons."

Nicola just lied to him. It was as plain as day. And not just to Nathaniel, either, but to everyone else.

It wasn't the first time she lied, of course. Nathaniel distinctly remembered that day one summer when Eleanor convinced him to take her and Nicola boating. Whereas Eleanor had openly wailed that Nathaniel was taking them too far into the deep part of the lake, Nicola bravely declared that she wasn't scared, but her fingers gripping tightly on the boat's sides told him otherwise.

But that had been different. Did she so want to leave their presence that she had to lie? Did Nicola really prefer Sebastian Bartholomew's company over Nathaniel's? Over _Eleanor's_? Truly, that was what was beginning to worry Nathaniel. Was that prick really _that_ important to Nicola now?

Seeing that he had no other choice but to relent, Nathaniel moved to help Nicola down from Sir Hugh's curricle and into the Viscount Farnsworth's.

"Well," Sir Hugh began after Bartholomew turned his phaeton around to leave the park. "Nothing left to do but appreciate the beautiful day, and one's present companions, isn't that right, Miss Sheridan?"

"Yes, of course, Sir Hugh," Eleanor said, smiling brightly. "The weather's too nice to waste."

"All right, Sheridan?" Sir Hugh added, looking over his shoulder to nod at Nathaniel. He was smiling, as usual, but there was something different in his eyes. Trust Hugh Parker to read Nathaniel like an open book. And that, Nathaniel thought, was yet another of the reasons why Sir Hugh was his friend.

"Ride on, then, Parker," Nathaniel said, managing a grin, himself. That grin turned into a smile, though, when Eleanor took a moment to reach over and give Nathaniel's hand a light squeeze, before turning to look forward and converse with Sir Hugh.

As Sir Hugh urged his team of grays forward, Nathaniel determined that he would, indeed, enjoy the rest of the day. The last thing he wanted to be was a wet blanket for his sister and his friend.

But, try as he might, he couldn't ignore his hunch that Bartholomew was about to do something that Nathaniel would not be happy about at all...

...nor could he ignore that lingering lavender fragrance, mingling with the crisp scent of the trees...

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**From the Author: **Tada! Another update! Hm... I think I'm on a roll. Haha!

Okay, I think I got a bit carried away at the beginning. I was just supposed to write about Sir Hugh, but I didn't want to leave out Sir John too much. He'll be making short appearances later, and I didn't want him to seem like a mushroom that just pops out of nowhere. Hehe.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Nathaniel couldn't believe it. He simply couldn't.

Why, oh why, was _nothing_ going his way these days?

Of course, there was the delightful event that, upon getting back to the Sheridan home that day he and the Sheridans rescued Nicola from walking alone in Park Lane, Sir Hugh had asked for Eleanor's hand in marriage while they spent time in the gardens of the Sheridan estate. Eleanor had accepted, and was so full of joy that she could barely stop smiling for days, even when Lady Sheridan told her that Eleanor would have to wait until she was eighteen before she was to marry.

But still, the happy mood was crushed, slowly, by the events that followed.

Firstly, Miss Spurgeon had visited again the next day, and, although there was no mention of her concern whether or not Nathaniel was courting Stella Ashton, the knowing look in her eyes still unnerved Nathaniel. He barely enjoyed his luncheon because of it. And then, just when he thought he was going to be able to relax that afternoon while luncheon ended, Miss Spurgeon decided to announce the news.

"Have you heard?" she had asked Lady Sheridan. "It seems that Lady Farelly is soon to be a mother-in-law!"

"Is that so?" Lady Sheridan had asked back. "Has Lady Honoria received and accepted a proposal?"

"Oh, no," Miss Spurgeon had said, laughing softly. "It is the young Viscount Farnsworth who is getting married."

"I see. And to whom, pray tell?"

"Why, to Nicola Sparks!"

Nathaniel was so stunned, he almost dropped his glass at his relative's declaration. He was able to catch himself, though, as he was snapped out of his stupor when Eleanor's fork clattered on her plate loudly. Eleanor apologized thoroughly, before properly excusing herself from the table. Nathaniel followed shortly after, for he found it hard to maintain a polite, smiling demeanor after Miss Spurgeon had disclosed just how Nicola said yes to Sebastian Bartholomew.

She had kissed him.

Right there on Park Lane.

It couldn't have been long after she had left Sir Hugh's carriage.

It was thus that Nathaniel had the strongest urge to _break_ something, which made him go straight to Eleanor's room. If he stayed in his sister's quarters, then nothing was available for him to break, and he could just vent out his inexplicable anger by restlessly pacing back and forth. Eleanor had, as a caring sister, welcomed him, and neither had spoken a word since Nathaniel entered the room. And, really, no words were needed because both knew the reason behind the other's gloomy mood.

"Nathaniel," Eleanor had said, sighing, after a reasonable amount of time had passed. "Nat, can you please stop? You're making me dizzy."

"What in heaven's name is she thinking?!" Nathaniel finally exclaimed, his voice booming in the room as his bottled-up rage was released.

"Nat, keep your voice down!" Eleanor scolded him.

"But, Eleanor," Nathaniel retorted, exerting admirable effort to lower his voice. "This is just foolish! She couldn't _possibly_ actually love Sebastian Bartholomew!"

"Because he doesn't deserve her?"

"Precisely."

"Well, then I suppose you'd feel better if _you_ had proposed to her."

If Eleanor had been trying to render her brother speechless, then she definitely succeeded, as Nathaniel immediately stopped his pacing, his hazel eyes sharply flicking to her in surprise. As for Nathaniel, his mind suddenly went blank, and, try as he might to rebut, he failed to come up with anything. For about three agonizing seconds, Nathaniel simply stood there, staring at Eleanor as if she had gone mad, and Eleanor sat there, keeping her steady gaze firm.

"And why," Nathaniel finally managed to croak out after a moment, "would I propose to her?"

"I don't know," Eleanor said seriously. "You tell me."

"Eleanor," Nathaniel said, his voice taking on a firm tone, as well. "Will you please stop being cryptic?"

"Only if you stop being a dense, hard-headed, proud chump!"

"Chump?" Nathaniel echoed.

"Yes! Chump!" Eleanor repeated, standing up and putting her hands to her hips. "Seriously, Nathaniel, if you had known about the viscount since Oxford, then why did it take you so long to tell Nicky?"

"I've tried!"

"Oh, and I suppose picking a quarrel every time you see her is your way of strengthening her trust in you?"

Nathaniel blinked, not used to Eleanor acting like... well... like she was the older sibling.

It was at that moment that Mirabelle knocked and announced, when she had been bidden to enter, "Miss Nicola Sparks has arrived, Miss Sheridan."

"Thank you, Mirabelle," Eleanor said calmly, making Nathaniel turn to her sharply. "I'll be down at the drawing room shortly."

"She's coming?!" he hissed after Mirabelle had left.

"Yes, she is, and she did," Eleanor answered. "She had written yesterday afternoon that she had something important to tell me. I didn't imagine that it would be that she was engaged."

"You should've said she was coming!" Nathaniel told her. "She could've overheard us!"

"I'm starting to think that it might be better if she did, seeing it's taking you forever to tell her the truth," Eleanor said, still sounding very much like an adult. "And now, look, she's engaged, and it might be too late!"

Nathaniel frowned at this, crossing his arms on his chest. "She's not married _yet_."

"And you plan to keep her that way, how?" Eleanor asked. "Would you like me to assist you and tell her what you told me?"

"NO!" Nathaniel exclaimed quickly, surprising his sister. "I mean... No, thank you, Ellie. It would be better if I told her, I think..."

"Well, tell her quick, Nathaniel," Eleanor said, "because, if you're not careful, Nicky just _might_ truly fall in love with Lord Sebastian, if she hasn't already."

Nathaniel had sunk down on Eleanor's bed then, trying to organize his thoughts. Everything was suddenly a jumbled mess! Eleanor had left him at this, but not before gently putting a hand on his shoulder and saying, "Old habits die hard, Nat, I know. And I suppose I wasn't much help when I sided with Nicola against you before. But know that Nicky _does_ trust you, despite her initial reactions to your teasing. Just... Just _talk_ to her, Nat..."

And so it was that, in the next few days, Eleanor frequently invited Nicola to go shopping or riding. And, as she pointed out, since they were _two_ ladies, then they required _two_ escorts, whom Eleanor delegated to be her fiancé and her brother. It seemed to Nathaniel that his sister was setting up opportunities for him to _talk_ with Nicola...

But Nathaniel was finding it to be so very hard, especially since Nicola just looked so _happy_ that Nathaniel had a tremendously difficult time convincing himself that he should burst the joyful bubble she was in. Plus, Nathaniel was often trapped into keeping silent during their outings, fearing that he might "pick a fight" with Nicola, as Eleanor had so bluntly put it. As calm, detached and unconcerned as he might have looked during their outings, Nathaniel discovered that his emotions, _brotherly_ protectiveness included, flared whenever Nicola was concerned. And if that was the case, then who was to say that he and Nicola would not end up quarrelling, after all?

To make matters worse, that lavender scent kept distracting him so much that Nathaniel had, for some inexplicable reason, caught himself staring at Nicola, specifically that one spot on her neck just below her ear. And he didn't catch himself just once, either. He had caught himself staring ten times that morning when Eleanor wanted to look at bonnets on Bond Street. So many times in one morning! And he actually _counted_! When Nathaniel realized this, he nearly hit his head on the wall.

"I think this is a good choice," Sir Hugh's voice came, steering Nathaniel's mind away from injuring himself. "Don't you agree, Sheridan?"

"Uh... Yes, I think so," Nathaniel said absently, reflexively pretending to know what Sir Hugh was talking about. Sir Hugh seemed to notice, though, as he stopped examining the pipe he was holding so that he could inquisitively raise an eyebrow at Nathaniel. He said nothing else, however, as he handed the pipe to the grey-mustached tobacconist.

The said tobacconist was in the process of packing Sir Hugh's purchase when another man, right about the age of the owner of the store, spoke up from his seat by the window.

"Would you look at that!" he exclaimed, almost to himself.

"What's a matter, William?" the tobacconist asked, his eyes still on the boxes of cigars he was working on.

"Trains," the man called William said, swatting the page of newspaper he was holding. "True, 's a fine mode of transport an' all, but blimey! It's no reason to plough through meadows!"

"Meadows, you say?"

"Ye," William nodded, standing up to place the publication on the counter for the tobacconist to read. Consequently, Nathaniel and Sir Hugh were also able to look at the article easily. "I've been to Killingworth before, an' I've seen a handsome piece of land near there. Nothing too profitable, I s'pose, but a handsome scenery, nonetheless. Now they're putting a railroad track to cut through it to get from Killingworth to Stockton. They got this machine called the Blutcher to transport 'em coal. "

As the older man spoke, Nathaniel's eyes quickly read the article, his previously distracted mind suddenly jumping into action.

"Sheridan?" Sir Hugh asked, probably confused with Nathaniel's sudden intense interest in the article.

"Wait," was all Nathaniel muttered as he took in the details. He didn't know yet what exactly caught his attention, but, as Nathaniel read the text, it was as if puzzle pieces floated in front of his eyes, but not quite forming a picture yet. Until, that is, Nathaniel remembered something he couldn't believe escaped his mind.

Beckwell Abbey was in Northumberland, as was Killingworth. As a matter of fact, Nathaniel was pretty sure that it was somewhere between Killingworth and Stockton. That "handsome scenery" that William was pertaining to... Could it be that the railroad would run cut through Beckwell Abbey? The article said that a man named Edward Pease was buying pieces of land around what was to be the railroad. Could it be that Edward Pease was the buyer who had made the offer to purchase Nicola's inheritance?

"Sir," Nathaniel said, turning to William, "would you mind greatly if I borrowed this?"

"Not at all, lad," the man answered, "why don't you keep it? I think we've got another copy around here somewhere."

The two young gentlemen then left the store after Nathaniel thanked William for his kindness. Nathaniel's mind was whirring as he reread the newspaper once more. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but his interpolation seemed to be a very logical one, and it was always better to be safe than sorry. They could look into it more later but, right now, he had to tell Nicola about this. This was a very important piece of information! They had to make sure that the Grouser had, indeed, followed Nicola's wish of refusing to sell the abbey.

Nathaniel had just finished telling this to Sir Hugh while they hurriedly strode back to Eleanor and Nicola's location when Sir Hugh hummed, saying, "Well, look who kindly kept the ladies company for us."

Nathaniel looked up from the newspaper, only to be greeted by a rather curious sight. The Viscount Farnsworth was there, standing with Nicola and Eleanor. That, by itself, would have been nothing out of the ordinary, despite how undesirable it was to Nathaniel. What was so curious about it, however, was the evident tension in the air. Sebastian Bartholomew was looking as proud as ever, as he dusted his sleeve of something. Nicola, on the other hand, appeared to be rather vexed as she looked up at him, and Eleanor was looking back and forth her two companions with a slightly worried look on her face.

"...You don't know anything about it at all," Nicola was saying, surprising Nathaniel. Was Nicola vexed _at_ the viscount? Why, things just might be starting to go his way, after all!

"What doesn't Lord Sebastian know?" Sir Hugh asked in his lighthearted manner.

"Anything at all, apparently," the viscount answered, with equal jocularity.

Sir Hugh looked from Nicola's flushed face to the seemingly unaffected Bartholomew, and gave a low whistle.

"We arrived just in time, I see," he said, nudging Nathaniel with his elbow, "to witness the happy couple's first lovers' quarrel."

Nathaniel felt a smile coming, but, he was later proud to note, he managed the cool, calm demeanor that he had recently mastered.

"It isn't a quarrel," Eleanor said, being a mediator as usual. "Nicola merely gave some money to an orphaned beggar child, and Lord Sebastian suggested she might do better to save her pennies for a worthier cause."

"Ah," Nathaniel said, his eyes stealing a quick glance at the viscount's sleeve. Now that he was close enough, he saw that there was a dark smudge on the previously crisp cloth, undoubtedly caused by the aforementioned beggar. "But there's a rub," he continued. "Nicola, being an orphan can hardly be expected to resist appeals for help from other orphans, especially those less fortunate than herself."

It was the most obvious thing to Nathaniel, really, and he wasn't at all surprised when Nicola took a small but sharp intake of air. He had apparently voiced out her thoughts, judging from her reaction. The reaction that her fiancé didn't seem to notice.

"Oh, come now," the viscount said dismissively. "Nicola can't possibly think that she has anything in common with those little pieces of trash that litter the streets, grabbing for coins. Do you, Nicola?"

_And if she did?!_ Nathaniel yelled inwardly, almost letting his steady appearance slip. _And if she did, would you care that you just called her a piece of trash?! _

"Of course," was Nicola's rather dismissive reply, despite her slightly red cheeks. "An orphan is an orphan, after all. And it is really only by the grace of God that I never had to live the way that poor child lives. My father, at least, left me more or less well taken care of. So many orphans haven't had the sort of luck I've had."

Nathaniel felt himself swell with pride at Nicola's speech. That girl truly was something else. Maybe her love for poetry had some use, after all, for now she was equipped with a tongue that was skillfully diplomatic while being honest.

The Viscount Farnsworth, however, seemed to miss the point of her speech, since he laughed as he took Nicola's hand and said, "Oh, but you are an enchanting creature, I swear! As if _you_ could ever find yourself in a situation at all like that pitiful child's. Why, orphan though you may be, Nicola, you could never find yourself friendless and alone, begging for scraps to eat. You're entirely too pretty."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes at that, not really caring if Eleanor narrowed her eyes at him for it.

_"You're entirely too pretty"? Good grief! That is not the point!! _

"Let's just hope, Nicola," the viscount said a bit grimly, dusting his soiled sleeve once more, "that you're right about soda water taking this hideous stain off."

Nathaniel glanced at Nicola, and found the corner of her lips arching down ever so slightly.

"Yes, my lord, I'm sure that will take care of it."

The Lord Sebastian left shortly after that, still dusting his sleeve. With that done, Eleanor linked her arm with Nicola's, and proceeded to continue their trip about the town. Nathaniel and Sir Hugh walked behind them at their own relaxed pace.

"I thought you were going to show Miss Sparks that newspaper," Sir Hugh said after a moment, and he did so quietly that the ladies didn't hear him.

"Later," Nathaniel said. And then, cocking his head a bit, he added, "He sure was concerned with his coat, wasn't he?"

"Yes, well, he always was rather vain," Sir Hugh said, shrugging. They needn't mention the name to know who they were talking about. Or, rather, they _couldn't_ mention the name, or the title, for fear that Nicola might hear them.

Nathaniel hummed absently, his mind working quietly.

Yes, Sebastian Bartholomew was vain, and, from what Nathaniel gathered, he might have been incredibly angry at the orphan child that offended his coat. If he was so particular about his clothes remaining clean, though, then why had he been fearless in getting on the Catch Me Who Can, whereas everybody else was concerned about their clothes, or the safety of the locomotive? The Lord Farelly was passionate about locomotives, Nathaniel remembered, so perhaps Bartholomew knew that the train won't dirty his clothes.

The puzzle pieces drifted across Nathaniel's mind again. But this time, they clicked into place.

Killingworth, Beckwell Abbey.

Edward Pease buying land, Nicola getting an offer to sell the abbey.

The Farellys being knowledgeable about trains, a train cutting across Northumberland.

It couldn't be all connected... could it?

Nathaniel dug a hand in his pocket, and his fingers brushed the newspaper he had shoved there earlier, reminding him of its presence. As his hazel eyes flitted to Nicola, who was chatting with Eleanor a few paces ahead of him, Nathaniel wished with all his might that, just this once, his deductions were wrong...

--  
Okay, I am officially on a roll. Haha! I thought I'd have such a hard time with these chapters. I'm glad I didn't. Let's hope this continues til the end so I can give quick updates.

But, um... wow. Even though I breezed through this chapter, I'm still having doubts about the flow. See, there are three scenes here (maybe even four), and I'm not sure if they...well... if they were too many for one chapter. Opinions will be greatly appreciated! Thanks!


	8. Chapter 8

Just a warning. Slight angst ahead. Hehehe.

And, oh yeah: Anything you see familiar isn't mine. _Nicola and the Viscount _is Meg Cabot's. Not mine. I just like to dress them up and play Barbie with them.

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

The sky was still dark, but a hopeful light blue hue was creeping into the horizon, hailing the near rising of the sun. It was indeed a beautiful sight to behold: the dawning of a new morning. Of new adventures. Of new beginnings. Most of London's high society, however, did not see it, for everyone was resting in their bedchambers after a night at Almack's Assembly Rooms.

Everyone, except for Nathaniel Sheridan.

He was far from rested. He had tried sleeping, of course, and there had been points during the night where he came close to it, but his mind was too restless. It kept replaying the events of the previous night, over and over. He knew that he shouldn't dwell on the what ifs, but Nathaniel, as his hazel eyes stared at the ceiling above him, took each word that had been spoken, and explored how they could have been said in another way, in another time, at another place, and would have caused a better things to come to pass.

Unfortunately, the past could not be changed. And now, Nicola Sparks was angry at him. Furious. Enraged. It was to be expected, Nathaniel mused, for what girl would not alienate the man who so rudely and accusingly spoke about the one they love? And Nathaniel had spoken rudely, he knew, despite the fact that he had very much tried to control his words.

The night had actually begun on a happy note. Nathaniel had set aside personal concerns, thanks to Eleanor being monumentally nervous as they prepared to go to Almack's. It was her first night to go there as a woman engaged, and, ecstatic as she might be, she didn't quite know how she was going to handle the attention she was most likely to receive. The Lady Sheridan had, of course, advised her to simply be calm and honestly and diplomatically answer questions. Eleanor had calmed down some after her mother's gentle instructions, but she was still wringing her gloves so much that she eventually called for Nathaniel.

"Oh, just distract me," Eleanor had asked him upon his arrival in her room. "Crack a joke, insult my dress, I don't really care..."

Nathaniel had laughed at that, sitting beside her on her settee and taking her hand.

"Ellie. Relax," he told her. "It'll just be like any other night except you have a ring on your finger. That, and you get to dance with Sir Hugh three times."

Eleanor, to Nathaniel's relief, laughed lightly at that. "But what if I do something unbecoming of a woman engaged?"

"Like what?" Nathaniel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Like... Like spending too much time with another gentleman?"

"Oh, please, as if you would," Nathaniel said, rolling his eyes. "Besides Sir Hugh probably won't leave your side the whole night. Anything else?"

Eleanor bit her lip, fidgeting with her fingers despite the fact that Nathaniel was holding one of them. Her fidgeting, though, lacked the vigor that it had earlier that evening.

"See?" Nathaniel said when Eleanor didn't say anything else. "You're worried for nothing. It'll be fine."

Eleanor slowly drew in a calming breath, saying, "All right... If you say so."

"You'll be fine," Nathaniel said, offering her a smile. "Just enjoy the night."

As it later turned out, Eleanor did enjoy the night. She visibly relaxed when Sir Hugh came, and she sauntered across the Assembly Room with such grace that Madame Veuxvincent would have been proud.

As for Nathaniel, he didn't purely have such a horrendous time himself. He had courteous dances with a few young ladies; some were old acquaintances and some were new. But the girl that Nathaniel eventually escorted was Stella Ashton. He didn't care if Miss Spurgeon saw him. Miss Ashton was nice company, and that was enough justification for him to chat with her.

Her pretty face looked rather pale that night; Nathaniel was worried that she might not be well. But after speaking with her for a few minutes, Nathaniel saw that she was feeling just fine, and, as usual, she was good-humored and enjoyable to talk to. True, she might not be passionate, unlike Nicola, but Nathaniel found that light conversations were beneficial for the moment. Besides, he had determined that he was not going to think about Nicola that night. A thing that was not going to happen, as it later turned out.

He had just gotten drinks from the refreshment table, and was sharing a few laughs with Stella by the window, when a familiar voice spoke up behind them.

"I beg your pardon," Nicola had said politely, but Nathaniel saw something in her eyes that told him that her politeness was rather forced. Stella didn't seem to notice, though, because she smiled sweetly as she greeted Nicola a good evening.

"May I have a word with you, Mr. Sheridan?" Nicola asked after returning Stella's greeting. "_Alone?_"

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow at this, wondering what all this was about. He had avoided being near her the past few days... What could he have done that she wanted to talk to him? Instead of questioning her, though, Nathaniel said nothing else but, "Certainly."

He excused himself from Stella, who was looking rather confused, and followed Nicola's lead. Well, if he couldn't avoid speaking with her tonight, then Nathaniel just had to watch his big mouth and make sure he didn't dig his own grave. He had to distance himself from her, that was for sure. He wasn't going to be caught staring at her tonight. Absolutely not.

But, suddenly, Nathaniel realized with a glimmer of hope, could it be that Nicola wanted to talk with him about her fiancé? Was it possible that she finally unveiled the viscount's true nature? No, it was far from possible, Nathaniel decided, because he had seen the way Nicola looked at Sebastian Bartholomew while they were dancing earlier that evening. He had tried to ignore it, but he saw it anyway. It was exactly the way she had been looking at him for the past two months.

With blind adoration.

Therefore, Nathaniel really _had_ to keep his distance, no matter how much he preferred otherwise.

Perhaps it was because he was walking behind her, or because his nose was beginning to recognize the fragrance anywhere, but Nathaniel nearly groaned in defeat when he detected the hint of that distracting lavender scent again. It was just so... well... distracting. And _tempting_... It made him want to step forward, wrap his arms around Nicola and pull her towards him so he could bury his face on the gentle curve of her neck, letting himself get lost in the torturingly sweet scent. He wanted so much to trace his thumb along her cheek, and, with a simple tilt of her chin—

Nathaniel nearly let out a choked yelp when Nicola whirled around, yanking him back into active consciousness. He suddenly found himself face to face with her, her strawberry lips only inches away from his.

_Oh, good lord, I could easily— _

_ARGH! What on earth are you thinking?!_

_Sheridan, SNAP OUT OF IT!!!_

Nicola apparently noticed their close proximity, as well, because Nathaniel saw surprise flicker through her sapphire eyes. But, true to the Nicola Sparks tradition, she stubbornly kept her ground and demanded, "Just who do you think you are, Nathaniel Sheridan, to cut me?"

Oh, so _that's_ what this was about.

Nathaniel blinked, finding himself in a very uncomfortable condition. Not only did Nicola very nearly catch him daydreaming about her, but she had also cornered him with a question that he had no idea how to answer. He didn't cut her, not really. Cutting someone implied that the cutter deliberately ignored the cuttee, snubbing them as if it was a public statement of their state of conflict. No, he didn't cut her. He just... didn't say 'hello'. Was that so bad?

It was, apparently, because Nicola, when he denied her accusation, was not at all dissuaded.

"You looked right at me at the punch bowl just now," she said, "and walked away without saying a word!"

"Because I couldn't think of anything to say," Nathaniel admitted. It wasn't a lie, either. Although he had bucketloads to tell her — about the train cutting through Beckwell Abbey, about Sebastian Bartholomew being a complete jerk, about Nicola being so very lovely that night — he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't know he could do it without offending her, and offending her was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.

Ironically, that seemed to be _precisely_ what his actions did.

How utterly frustrating.

"Oh, and I suppose 'Good evening, Miss Sparks' would have been too banal for someone of your great mental prowess?"

Well, she had a point there. But what could he say? "So sorry I've been avoiding you, but I've found that my self-control falters alarmningly whenever I'm around you"? Oh, she'd _surely_ be understanding over _that_.

Feeling his self-control slowly wilting that very moment, Nathaniel only simply said, "I ought to have said good evening. You're quite right."

Nicola paused. She must have expected him to retaliate and begin quarellling with her, because a surprised look overtook her lovely face when she asked him if he was well. Oh, that was classic. Eleanor should have been there.

"It isn't like to you to let me win an argument," Nicola told him. "Are you sure you're not suffering from ague?"

She really should not have said that. She should have just walked away proudly for winning an argument so easily. But she didn't, and Nathaniel felt angry thoughts — thoughts he had so carefully put aside — resurface.

_You see?_ Nathaniel wanted to ask her. _You see?! You're an amazingly intuitive girl! Why can't you be like that with that cretin?! _

Instead of that, however, he answered her inquiry with a different question of his own. "Yes. But I wonder if I oughtn't be asking the same of you. What can you be thinking, agreeing to marry that bounder?"

Ha! Bounder. He ought to use that more often.

Nicola gasped, and, angered by the way he referred to the viscount, replied haughtily that she happened to love him. "And he loves me," was how she ended her declaration.

"Does he?" Nathaniel automatically asked. "Does he indeed?"

"Of course he does!" Nicola exclaimed. "Nat, really! Why on earth should he have asked me if he didn't?"

"I don't know. Did he tell you so?"

"Did he tell me what?"

_Oh, for goodness sake!_

"That he loved you," Nathaniel supplied, his patience dangerously thin. Did the viscount impair her common sense? Apparently so.

When Nicola didn't answer at once, Nathaniel's jaw clenched. He knew it. He had known it from the very beginning. That good for nothing Farnsworth was taking Nicola for granted, and she was letting him!

"So he hasn't said it," Nathaniel concluded. "I thought as much. Ask him, Nicola—or, God forbid, ask yourself—why a man in Bartholomew's position would ask to marry a girl—an _orphaned _girl—with only a hundred pounds a year."

When Nathaniel heard himself, he very nearly winced. He sounded horrid, but what he said was really something to consider. The only acceptable reason Bartholomew could have asked for Nicola's hand was because he loved her. And if he loved her, then he should have said so, especially now that they were already engaged. And if he didn't... Well, Nathaniel could think of one other reason behind the viscount's actions, and it was something not to be desired.

"Go ahead," Nathaniel said, deciding that it would be much, _much_ better if Nicola asked Bartholomew herself. Discovering the truth always was better when done personally, and, after all, Nathaniel couldn't go around accusing someone of something he didn't have real, substantial evidence for. "I dare you. Ask him."

"What do you suppose he's going to say? Obviously you know, or you wouldn't be so confident about it," Nicola said. "Well, if you know something you're not telling me, just say it. I can't imagine why you haven't done so already. You've never felt very squeamish about sparing my feelings before now."

At that last remark, Nathaniel felt something inside him break.

And then, suddenly, he wasn't thinking.

"Fine," he said, feeling livid and thoroughly numb at the same time. "You don't want to have your feelings spared? Then ask your light o' love about Pease."

Nathaniel supposed it would have been funny on any other day, but even if he was only half as angry as he was at the moment, he wouldn't have laughed when Nicola thought he was talking about garden vegetables.

"Not peas the vegetable," Nathaniel corrected her sharply. "Pease the name. Ask your precious Lord Sebastian about Edward Pease, and see what he has to say."

Well, truth be told, he didn't know what Sebastian Bartholomew had to say about Edward Pease, either, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The words had left his mouth, and the damage was done. Nathaniel knew, even as he stood there, watching Nicola leave, that he would regret snapping at her repeatedly.

He just wasn't thinking. Yes, Nathaniel teased her often, and she usually shot back at him with defiance, but her words that night stung him like they never did before. Even as he lay on his bed while the sun began to rise, he felt numb and dulled.

Maybe it was because he was just exhausted. Ever since he found out about her engagement, things seemed to be going downhill.

Or maybe it was because it was the first time she voiced out how his own words had affected her. She thought he didn't care about her feelings. Good lord, how could she say that? He's _always_ cared about her! True, he might have had a strange way of showing sometimes, but... He cared about her! More than that Sebastian Bartholomew ever could! Couldn't she see that?

Then again, maybe it was because she said it after declaring that she loved Sebastian Bartholomew.

_"I love him," _she had said with absolute conviction.

Nathaniel's jaw clenched as he closed his eyes, feeling excessively tired. Perhaps he should stop thinking too much about Nicola. It wasn't doing very good for his sleep, and, the worst part about it was that she didn't even care what he said. He was just her best friend's brother, the annoying Nathaniel Sheridan, the boy who tied her braids to the back of her chair.

Nathaniel sighed, his hazel eyes turning towards the window as light peeked through the curtains.

Today. He could start today.

It was the dawn of a new morning. Of new adventures. Of new beginnings.

* * *

Told you it was angsty.

I've recently been concerned that maybe this story is looking like I'm simply copying off the book. Although it's technically true, since this IS the book, but presented in a different angle, I _would_ like the story to have a slightly different feel, while still being faithful to the story.

... Am I making sense? Hehe. Sorry, just rambling to myself. I just wanted it to be a good balance of faithfulness and creativity. :þ

Thank y'all for reading and reviewing! Love you guys!


	9. Chapter 9

**DISCLAIMER:** Anything you see familiar isn't mine. _Nicola and the Viscount _is Meg Cabot's. I just like to dress them up and play Barbie with them.

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

Nathaniel wasn't much of an athlete. It wasn't that he didn't have the physical requirements to be one; as a matter of fact, he had been told that he was rather fit for someone whom most people thought to have stayed in the library for the most parts of the day. It was true, of course, that Nathaniel preferred books and chess over polo and shooting, but it was not to be denied that he was capable of such outdoor sports should he choose to engage in them.

One outdoor activity that he thoroughly enjoyed was riding on horseback, mostly because it was one thing he could do regardless of his mood. He could prompt his horse in a gallop or canter to enjoy the thrill or to relish the casual pace. On other days, though, he went riding to let the scenery ease his distracted mind even by the slightest.

That day was such a day. It wasn't his original intention to go riding, but that was how things eventually became. However, even thought the weather would have been perfect for such a purpose, it didn't do very much for his troubled thoughts. If anything, the calming sounds of the open field only lulled him back into a thoughtful mood, as much as he tried to fight it, and Nathaniel was predictably relieved to note that no one else seemed noticed his state of distraction—

"NATHANIEL!"

"Huh—What?" Nathaniel asked with a start, nearly falling off of his horse at the sound of the alarmed voice nearby. He turned to his right to see Miss Stella Ashton atop her own horse, peering at him with a very concerned look.

"I apologize," Nathaniel quickly said, managing a smile. "What was that you said again?"

"I didn't actually say anything," Stella told him, shaking her head slightly. "Not since we stopped talking about Phillip, that is. You fell silent after that."

"Oh."

"You didn't answer the first several times I called you, you had me slightly worried. Are you quite all right?" Stella asked, the look of concern still not leaving her pretty face. "If I may say so, I think you look rather...pale..."

Nathaniel laughed a bit at that, because Stella's observation reminded him that, last night, it was she who had looked slightly sallow. Now, however, she was looking quite lovely, and her face had more color than it did the previous night. Perhaps it was an optical illusion created by her maroon riding coat, added to the bright, crisp colors of the morning.

"Ah... Well..." Nathaniel said, "I didn't get much sleep last night, unfortunately."

"Truly?" Stella exclaimed, surprised. "We should not have gone riding today if that was so!"

"No, no, I'm perfectly fine for riding, Miss Ashton," Nathaniel told her politely. "It's not right for me to withdraw my offer to take you riding just because of a small thing."

"But still..." Stella began, but then slightly trailing off.

"I think I rather prefer riding with you over being cooped up in the house on such a beautiful day," Nathaniel said in an attempt to smoothly change the subject. An attempt, it seemed, that wasn't quite successful, as Stella, after a few moments' pause turned to him and asked, "Why were you not able to sleep? Were you feeling ill?"

Despite Stella's initially unwanted inquiries, Nathaniel found himself smiling. One of the things he liked about Stella Ashton was her amusingly curious way of telling stories about her experiences, like a child that was seeing things for the first time. And when Stella asked Nathaniel about things, she would ask question upon question, almost as if she was taking each detail and examining it. The way she asked was not irritating at all, either, because she was always sincerely concerned and interested.

"No," Nathaniel answered. "I was only thinking of...things."

"Things," Stella echoed as she gazed at the horizon. "Things like what happened last night at Almack's perhaps?"

For a moment, Nathaniel wondered how on earth Stella knew precisely what had robbed him of his sleep. But then he remembered: Stella had been there, sitting not far away, when he and Nicola had their "discussion", and perhaps it was plain to see that the topic of the said discussion had not been a happy one.

"Perhaps," Nathaniel replied vaguely, clearing his throat. It was inappropriate, not to mention rude, for him to be spending time with one lady while his thoughts were occupied by another. And it was especially embarrassing to be caught doing so.

"I see..." Stella said as she turned to look him again, her lips curving into a small smile. She truly was rather lovely, Nathaniel observed. A lovely smile to match her lovely personality that he was, by now, fond of. And if only Nathaniel wasn't so preoccupied with Nicola Sparks, then maybe, just maybe, he might have fallen in love with Stella Ashton. But then, that was the problem, wasn't it? Nathaniel was too preoccupied with Nicola Sparks, so much so that everything reminded him of her.

Brotherly concern wasn't supposed to be like that, was it?

"Mr. Sheridan," Stella began, her tone light and casual. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Why do you spend time with me?"

If Nathaniel had been walking, he would have stopped in his tracks. But since he wasn't, he could only stare blankly at the smiling Stella as he rummaged his brain for answer. An answer that he didn't find in time, because Stella spoke again in that light and casual tone.

"I was only wondering," she said, keeping her horse's steady gait at a comfortable pace, "what your intentions are. It's just that most of the ladies around seem to think that you are courting me, Mr. Sheridan, whereas I'm a little inclined to think otherwise because, with all due respect, you don't seem to have interest in me, really."

"Well, I wouldn't say _that_," Nathaniel said quickly while being careful at the same time. "The fact is I do find you interesting, Miss Ashton."

"I see," Stella said, her smile unwavering. "Interesting enough to spend time with?"

"Yes. Precisely," Nathaniel said. "I honestly do enjoy spending time with you, Miss Ashton, and that is why...well... that is why I spend time with you."

"We are a good pair of friends, aren't we?"

"I'd like to think so, yes."

"But a pair of friends is all we are going to be, isn't it?"

Nathaniel opened his mouth, very nearly exclaiming some form of disagreement. He almost told Stella that he really was trying to explore the possibility of their friendship being taken to another level. But then, what if she asked why? What would she say if she found out that a huge part of the reason why Nathaniel was spending time with her was so that he could be distracted from thinking about a woman that he should _not _ be thinking about?

Oh, that would surely go over well.

Stella laughed daintily as her hand went to hold on to her bonnet, which would have been blown away by a sudden gust of wind. "Mr. Sheridan," she said, her brown eyes twinkling for a reason Nathaniel could not comprehend, "I have had a delightful time with you. And believe me when I say that I now treasure you as a dear friend."

A very simple "Oh" was all Nathaniel could manage.

"And, as a friend," Stella continued, looking a bit more serious, "I would like to help you in whatever is occupying your thoughts all the time. If you let me, that is."

Nathaniel emitted another "Oh" before saying, "That's... Er... That's very kind of you."

Inwardly, Nathaniel nearly kicked himself. Apparently, sleep wasn't the only thing he was lacking today. His ability to answer questions seemed to have left him, as well. Perhaps it had something to do with Stella's impressive display of accurate guessing.

Feminine intuition truly wasn't something to be underestimated.

"Well, in any case," Stella said a while later, "I think Miss Sparks will be relieved."

"Miss Sparks?" Nathaniel echoed. "Relieved about what?"

"About the nature of relationship," Stella said simply. "I'm assuming that she's quite protective of you, being your sister's best friend and all, and thought that we were flirting by the window last night. She looked so angry, I was afraid she might slap me."

"Oh, but Miss Sparks wouldn't even hurt a fly!"

"Yes, I know," Stella agreed. "She's usually a very pleasant girl. That's why I was worried that I might have had upset her so much."

"Believe me, Miss Ashton," Nathaniel said, barely suppressing a sigh at the reminder of the past night's events, "her foul mood has nothing to do with you."

"If you say so, Mr. Sheridan," Stella said, looking thoughtful. "Still, I do admit that she looked quite... _disapproving _when she saw us."

Nathaniel nearly scoffed, wanting to tell Stella that she needn't worry about Nicola's overreactive tendencies. The girl could be such a drama queen, giving importance to the most trivial and unimportant things. Although, of course, it cannot be said that Nathaniel didn't admire this part of her, since this eye to detail was precisely the reason why she appreciated the aspects of her surroundings that others took for granted. It was at these times that her sapphire eyes would sparkle in wonder, her passion and joy overflowing into words, although she didn't really need words to be expressive.

He wasn't able to voice this out, however, because Stella gave a small laugh as she continued to say, "Why, if she wasn't engaged to Lord Sebastian, I might have suspected that she was jealous."

Nathaniel blinked at Stella owlishly, not quite believing his ears. Did Stella, a woman of high intuition, just imply that Nicola could have been _jealous _ of Miss Ashton because she was spending time with Nathaniel?

How ridiculous! Nicola avoided Nathaniel as if he was the bane of her existence! And besides, even if the animosity between them didn't exist, it was impossible for Nicola to feel for Nathaniel what she claimed to have felt for Sebastian Bartholomew.

Even so, as Nathaniel told Stella that she must be mistakenand Stella most graciously answered, "If you say so, Mr. Sheridan" he felt something rise within him. Something that was almost akin to hope, but not quite.

Surely, Stella was mistaken. There was no reason for Nicola to be jealous. And even if there was, there really was no reason for Nathaniel to be taking this so seriously.

...Was there?

* * *

Yeah, it's short. Shorter than nearly all other chapters, anyway.

Argh. All the _politeness _ in the air practically stifled me, but I didn't know how else to do this. See, I felt that Nat and Stella's relationship had to be addressed. And... -sigh- Sorry, was that chapter thoroughly boring? I practically crawled through it, and I even tried scrapping the chapter and starting over, but this is how it always ended up to be. I just had to remind myself of you, my readers, just to keep me going. That, and that better parts are coming up.

Argh. I need choklit to cheer me up. I'll be right back.


	10. Chapter 10

Hello, all! Sorry for the delay. My life (my life as a working girl, anyway) is sort of in chaos. I barely have time to do anything fun because, when I get off of work, I'm always so dead tired that I don't get to do anything else. Like writing this... or cleaning my room, even. -siiiiiiiigh-

Aaaaaaanyway. Here ya go. It's a bit long, but I hope you enjoy this one!

**Disclaimer:** _Nicola and the Viscount _is Meg Cabot's. Not mine. All the characters in this chapter aren't mine, either. I just like to dress them up and play Barbie with them.

* * *

CHAPTER TEN

When Nathaniel first met her, he had thought that she was just another one of those bratty girls that nobles had sent to finishing school in hopes of setting them straight. He didn't really take note of her as he helped Eleanor get settled in her new room at Madame Veuxvincent's Seminary for Young Ladies, but he did have enough observational skills to register that she had black braided hair, and a small but melodic voice that told his mother, when asked, that her name was Nicola Sparks.

Nicola Sparks was exactly Eleanor's age, and she seemed nice enough, judging from the bits he heard from her conversation with Eleanor and Lady Sheridan.

"Nathaniel, dear," Lady Sheridan had called when Nathaniel was examining the view Eleanor was going to get from her window. "Come and meet Eleanor's new friend."

Obeying promptly, Nathaniel approached the ladies in the room and turned his hazel gaze to the small girl.

"Nathaniel, this is Miss Nicola Sparks. Nicola dear, this is Nathaniel, Eleanor's older brother."

Nathaniel gave her a small bow, to which Nicola answered with a curtsey. Nicola Sparks, Nathaniel finally noted, had sparkling sapphire eyes, and a pretty little face that was slightly peppered with adorable freckles about her nose. Although she was standing there politely, Nathaniel somehow gauged her to be an enthusiastic girl, and that she was only being prim and proper in order to be polite to the Lord and Lady in the room.

Eleanor, on the other hand, didn't seem to find the need to act differently, probably because the Lord and Lady were her parents.

"He's fourteen," she piped up. "And he teases me all the time."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. Although what Eleanor said was true, saying that to a new acquaintance wasn't really necessary.

"Baby sister," he said, placing a hand on top of Eleanor's head as if to emphasize how much taller than her he was. "It's not nice to speak about someone as if they weren't there in front of you."

"I'm not a baby!" Eleanor exclaimed, stomping her foot as she made a make a futile attempt to swat Nathaniel's hand away.

"Yes, silly baby sister, you still are," Nathaniel told her, "as long as you act like one."

"No, I am not!"

"Eleanor," Lady Sheridan spoke up firmly, "ladies don't stomp their feet. And Nathaniel, don't provoke your sister."

"Yes, mother," Nathaniel said, throwing Eleanor a smirk. In turn, Eleanor gave (or tried to give) Nathaniel's hand a slap when he finally lifted it off her head.

During the whole exchange, Nicola had stood there silently, her sapphire eyes blinking up at him, as if examining her new roommate's brother. Nathaniel only smiled at her, making her look down at her shoes, embarrassed that she had been caught staring. This made Nathaniel wonder that perhaps he had been wrong about Eleanor's new friend.

Perhaps little Miss Nicola Sparks truly was a shy and quiet girl after all.

This theory was disproved, though, when Nicola came over to stay at the Sheridan's for the holidays. As it appeared, Nicola was an orphan — her parents had passed away several years ago — and lived in an abbey all the way out in Northumberland. The Lady Sheridan's motherly instincts took over, and had invited Nicola to come to Sheridan Park.

When Nicola had arrived, Nathaniel saw that she and Eleanor seemed to have developed friendship well. Both girls excitedly toured the estate; they stopped only long enough for Eleanor to say, "Hello, Nat! I'm back for the holidays and Nicky's staying with us but I suppose you already knew that so see you later!" when they hurriedly passed by him in the hallway. Nathaniel was left blinking after them as Eleanor's hasty speech settle in his mind. After a moment, he rolled his eyes at his sister's silliness and continued on his way.

Nathaniel didn't see either girl for the rest of the morning.

During luncheon, the girls had reappeared, and all it took was Lord Sheridan to say, "What were you girls up to this morning?" for Eleanor to launch into a very detailed account of what parts of the estate she had shown Nicola, and to take utmost effort in describing how the lilies in the pond seemed to be whiter than she had remembered. Nicola agreed every once in a while, and when she did, Nathaniel observed that she had quite an impressive vocabulary. She used adjectives like "exquisite" and "breathtaking", big words that a regular 10-year-old girl, noble blood or no, didn't usually use. The reason behind this, Nathaniel discovered later that afternoon, was something that would eventually be a pivotal element in their relationship.

Nathaniel had been in the family library quietly reading a book on chess techniques when the oak doors opened to let a pair of giggling voices float in.

"'Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West, through all the wide Border his steed was the best.'"

Nathaniel blinked, looking up from the chessboard, at the sound of the energetic female voice quoting passionately. Lochinvar? They were quoting _Marmion_ now? That wasn't material for 10-year-olds, was it? Whether or not it was, the owner of the voice apparently knew the text by heart.

"'So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war...'"

The voice paused, but only for a second, before it was joined by another — one that Nathaniel was already very familiar with — to say, "...there never was a knight like the young Lochinvar.'"

There came another fit of giggles, and Nathaniel sighed, shutting his book with a thud. Abruptly the giggling stopped, and a moment later, Eleanor poked her head from the other side of the shelves that had hidden Nathaniel from her view.

"Oh, Nat!" Eleanor exclaimed. "I didn't know you were there."

"Apparently," Nathaniel said in a bored manner. "This is a library, Eleanor, and you're supposed to be quiet in libraries. Weren't you paying attention to your Headmistress when she taught you that?"

Eleanor frowned, tossing one of her chestnut braids over her shoulder, just as Nicola appeared to stand behind her. "That's what they do in public libraries, Nat. This is our library and there's nobody else around..."

"Nobody else around, huh?" Nathaniel said, raising an eyebrow. "What do you call me, then?"

"You're my brother. You don't count."

"Ah, right. Of course," Nathaniel said indulgingly, sarcasm oozing from his lips. This made Eleanor frown deeper, especially when Nathaniel turned back to chess. If Eleanor hated being called a baby, she hated it more when Nathaniel didn't pay much attention to her. Lady Sheridan had told Nathaniel once that even though Eleanor didn't anymore cling to her older brother as if he was her lifeline, she still valued his opinions. Nathaniel found this doubtful at first, but whether or not it was true, it didn't stop him from teasing and occasionally waving Eleanor off every now and then. Teasing was just teasing, after all.

"Fine. We'll try to be quiet," Eleanor said begrudgingly.

"You can't stay here."

"What?!" Eleanor shrieked. "Why not?!"

"Because you won't be able to control yourself later and you'll be loud again," Nathaniel said, as he flipped through his book again. "And I was here first, so it's my call. Take your silly poetry somewhere else."

"Nat, you're so mean!"  
**"Poetry isn't silly!" **

Nathaniel looked up again, one lock of his hair falling on his forehead as his hazel gaze clashed with a blue one.

This was the first time since they first met that Nicola looked straight at Nathaniel, and it was also the first time that she spoke to him directly. Whereas Eleanor remained where she had been standing for the past couple of minutes, Nicola had stepped forward, her stance tense and firm, as if she was gearing for battle. Her cheeks were tinted with a faint pink color, and her lips were curved in an indignant frown.

All that, however, Nathaniel only noticed on the side. His full attention was on her sapphire eyes. Even though he had always noticed the sparkle in them, it amazed Nathaniel how they looked like at that moment. As if to match her stance, her blue eyes were ablaze, as if she was defending her most treasured possession with her life. And, Nathaniel later mused, perhaps she truly was.

"Isn't it now," Nathaniel asked, his lips slowly forming a smile, before adding as an afterthought, "Nicky?"

"It's not!" Nicola answered. "It's beautiful and it's elegant and... and..."

"And...?" Nathaniel encouraged, smiling wider.

"And you shouldn't make fun of it, Nathaniel Sheridan!!!"

Nathaniel's eyebrow rose again. Since he had merely carelessly called poetry silly, and he hadn't really "made fun" of it in her presence, Nathaniel deduced that perhaps Eleanor had told Nicola how much he had always disliked it. Or perhaps, for Nicola Sparks, calling poetry silly was already making fun of the literary form.

In any case, as Nicola continued glaring at him until Eleanor pulled her out of the room — "Come on, Nicky. Let's just leave my miserable brother alone." — Nathaniel decided that he liked seeing her eyes burn like that. And he liked the way she pronounced his name, too. He didn't know what was so special about it, but somehow, Nathaniel felt like he wanted to hear her say it again.

He then concluded that he must tease her about silly poetry as soon as the next opportunity arose.

And so began the seemingly never-ending war between Nathaniel and Nicola, which, added to the already established bickering of the Sheridan siblings, was almost enough to drive any mother insane. But since Lady Sheridan had such patience (and she was the best mother in the world, according to the Sheridan children), she treated them with firm correction, just enough to keep the children from truly hurting each other's feelings.

Things went on like that for a few years: Nicola frequently came to stay at the Sheridans' London home on weekends and at Sheridan Park on holidays. The Lord and Lady Sheridan took her as if they were their own daughter, and Nathaniel, good brother to Eleanor that he was, treated Nicola as he did his own sister. The teasing continued like clockwork, and it came to a point that Phillip asked his mother if one of the older children were sick because they hadn't quarrelled for the day.

As much as Lady Sheridan prayed that the three sparring youngsters do something else aside from getting on each other's nerves, it would be two years before her wishes were granted.

It was raining hard that night. Everyone had already gone to bed hours earlier; Nathaniel himself was already deep in slumber. Distant thunders rolled as rain pelted on the windows, but, if anything, it only lulled Nathaniel to sleep. But then, right outside the window, lightning flashed with a loud thunderclap, breaking through the drowsy cloud Nathaniel was in. He didn't give it any mind, though, and he just turned in his bed for a more comfortable position.

He didn't have time to close his eyes.

"NAT!!!" Eleanor cried as she burst into the room and ran to pull Nathaniel from the covers. "Nat, you've got to come quick!!!"

"Eleanor, wha?" Nathaniel asked once concern replaced the shock caused by Eleanor's sudden appearance.

"It's Nicky!" Eleanor exclaimed as they tore down the hall towards the girls' room. "She kept saying she was all right, but I _knew_ something was wrong!"

"Why, what happened?"

Eleanor answered by throwing her own door open and pointing to where Nicola was. All it took was one glance, and Nathaniel felt his concern increase immeasurably. In an instant he was crouching beside her, about an arm's length away to let her have her space.

"Nicky?" he asked.

The girl balled up in the corner said nothing, but instead continued trembling as her fingers tightly gripped her nightgown on her knees.

"I would've fetched Mother, but your room was closer," Eleanor supplied. She didn't have to say it, really, but perhaps she just needed to say something to break the silence. "I tried to do it, Nat, what you always did when I was the one scared. But it didn't do much..."

Nathaniel nodded, noting the blanket that Eleanor had most likely draped on her friend's shoulders. Before, when Eleanor was still afraid of storms, it always took a while before she could be left alone again, but all she needed was a blanket around her and a simple human contact, as simple as Nathaniel holding her hand.

As for Nicola, however, she was terrified, more so than Nathaniel had ever seen of Eleanor. And so Nathaniel proceeded cautiously, wishing with all his might that Nicola had not gone into shock yet.

"Nicky," he said as he slowly reached one hand out. "Nick, it's Nat... I'm going to touch your hand, all right?"

That said, Nathaniel let his fingertips gingerly graze her white knuckles. She flinched slightly, but made no other sign of disapproval. Seeing this as a good sign, he carefully covered her cold fingers with his own warm ones, all the while speaking to her in what he hoped was a soothing voice. Nicola didn't protest, even when Nathaniel finally took hold of her whole hand. He was just about to go for her other hand, too, when another lightning sliced the night sky, causing Nicola to emit a quick, shrill shriek and instinctively grab the nearest thing within reach.

And that was how Nathaniel found Nicola catching him in a frightened embrace, her one hand clenching his own, and the other crumpling a fistful of his shirt.

"Nicky..." Nathaniel began.

He wasn't able to say anything else, though, because Nicola let out in a small, strangled voice, "Nat... I'm scared..."

"I know," Nathaniel said, smiling slightly. He allowed a hint of teasing in his voice, but kept his tone as relaxing as he could.

"Nat..." Nicola whimpered into his shoulder as the storm raged on outside. "Nat, don't leave me..."

"I won't," Nathaniel promised, nodding. "I'll stay here right beside you, Nicky."

It took another hour or so until Nicola fell asleep in Nathaniel's arms. Eleanor, who had tried to stay up beside her brother, eventually fell asleep, too, her head leaning on Nathaniel's other shoulder. Nathaniel let her, and that night, he took care of the two girls: his sister and his Nicky.

It was the memory of this night — as well as all the other events before it — that Nathaniel, six years after he first met Nicola Sparks in Eleanor's room in Madame Veuxvincent's Seminary for Young Ladies, was reminded just how Nicola managed to secure for herself a place in his heart.

And it was on that afternoon, four years after that fateful night, that Nathaniel finally admitted to himself that Nicola was _not_ just "his little sister's best friend." She was _his_ friend, too; he had treated her as his sister not just because of Eleanor, but because he truly did come to care for her.

And it was in that moment in the drawing room, just after Sir Hugh Parker turned the page of his newspaper, that everything suddenly clicked into place. Nathaniel treasured Nicola, yes, but...there was something else. The "brotherly" protectiveness, as he so stubbornly called it. His promise to always be by her side. The strange warmth he felt when he saw her smile...

_"What is Nicola Sparks to you, really?"_ Sir Hugh had asked Nathaniel earlier that afternoon when the eldest Sheridan told his friend about the new questions that came to mind because of his conversation with Stella Ashton.

The way it nearly destroyed him to think that she would spend the rest of her life with Sebastian Bartholomew. The many times he caught himself staring at her. The moments when he found himself suddenly wanting to _kiss_ her...

What _was_ Nicola Sparks to Nathaniel Sheridan?

She was a friend, a sister...and yet she was more than that.

"I love her."

Nathaniel blinked, his eyes looking at the blue sky outside the window beside him. He wasn't actually looking at the sky; his mind was somewhere else, focused on something else that possessed eyes that was a clearer, more beautiful blue.

"Hm? Did you say something?" came a voice, successfully tearing Nathaniel's gaze from the window.

Sir Hugh Parker raised an eyebrow at him as he slightly tilted his head away from the newspaper.

Nathaniel grinned.

"I love Nicky."

The admission rolled of his tongue easily. It felt strange and foreign, and yet so astoundingly natural. It was like a catalyst, and now that he had said it, everything suddenly seemed to make sense.

Sir Hugh, however, didn't seem to share Nathaniel's epiphany at the moment.

"Ah," he said, nodding, as if in slight disappointment, "Yes, I know. You care about her very much; it's probably the most obvious thing in the world."

"No, Parker, I meant..." Nathaniel tried, almost not believing his own voice. "I think I'm in love with her."

This time, Sir Hugh didn't even bother to lower his newspaper to look at Nathaniel. Instead, the publication stayed where it was, hiding the gentleman's face from view. But the truth was: Nathaniel didn't have to see his face to know what his true reaction was.

"Aye, Sheridan," Sir Hugh said, laughter evident in his voice. "I believe you are."

"I'm in love with Nicky..."

"Right."

"I'm in love with Nicky!" At the back of his mind, he reckoned that if anybody else who heard him, they would think that he had gone mad for saying the same thing over and over. "I've always been in love with her! I can't believe I only figured this out now..."

"Neither can I," Sir Hugh said in his chuckling voice. "All you have to do now is figure out how you're going to get her back from the Viscount Farnsworth."

Nathaniel laughter promptly stopped.

"Not to rain on your parade," Sir Hugh added, standing up. "I only thought I'd remind you, just in case you might get carried away and march to the Bartholomew home to declare your undying love for her."

Nathaniel gave a small huff, raking his fingers through his hair. Sir Hugh had a point. As happy as Nathaniel was, he couldn't just disregard the viscount for, at the moment, the man was officially the one whom Nicola loved. If that was even true.

"I'd hate to leave you in this state, my friend," Sir Hugh said, "but I must get going to make it to dinner."

Nathaniel nodded, and was standing up, as well, when the door to the drawing room opened to reveal Eleanor.

"Oh! Sir Hugh!" she exclaimed, looking thoroughly surprised. "I'm sorry; I didn't know you were coming!"

"Baby sister," Nathaniel said, grinning, "Sir Hugh's presence isn't exclusive for you, you know."

It was true, of course, regardless of the fact that Sir Hugh _had _come to pay Eleanor a surprise visit. Upon learning that Eleanor had spent the afternoon at Grafton House with her mother, the two gentlemen had decided to simply lounge at the Sheridans' drawing room, instead. It was just Eleanor's misfortune that she arrived right when Sir Hugh was leaving.

Eleanor slightly frowned at Nathaniel, her eyes shooting daggers at him. "Nat, I am not a baby."

"No, I suppose you're not," Nathaniel laughed, patting the top of her head as he brushed past her. "But you're still my baby sister, and you always will be."

With that, Nathaniel left the room, ignoring the puzzled look Eleanor gave him, to leave the engaged couple to have a few moments alone.

"Hello, Mother," Nathaniel said when he found the Lady Sheridan several paces from the main entrance to the house. "How was your afternoon?"

"Quite pleasant, although Eleanor took quite a while picking out her new bonnet," Lady Sheridan answered brightly. "And how was your afternoon, Nathaniel?"

Nathaniel smiled, looking for the right word. "It was...enlightening."

The door bell rang at that moment, and a maid passed by to open the door.

"Was it?" Lady Sheridan asked.

She wasn't able to ask any more, however, because a familiar voice came from the doorway, saying, "May I ask if the Lady Sheridan is at home?"

The maid who had opened the door replied that she would go and see, but the Lady Sheridan, who, like Nathaniel, had recognized the voice instantly, came to the door and shooed the maid aside.

"Nicola!" the Lady Sheridan cried. "Whatever are you doing out by yourself, and at this hour? Did you come by carriage?"

Nathaniel, whose view of their guest was obstructed by the heavy door, frowned slightly at the questions his mother speedily asked Nicola. It appeared that the girl had _walked_ to the Sheridan home. What was it with Nicola and walking nowadays? Curious, Nathaniel took a couple of steps closer.

"...Is something wrong?" was Lady Sheridan's last question.

Nathaniel took one last step, enough to let him catch a glimpse of the girl standing at the doorway.

And a glimpse was all he was able to get, because Nicola, much to the surprise of everyone present, flung her arms around Lady Sheridan's neck and burst into tears.

--------

Yep. None of this was in the original book (except for the last several lines when Nicola arrived). I pulled this out from my crazy imagination, so if you guys see any inconsistencies or OOC-ness, I'd appreciate it greatly if you pointed them out.

And I hope that the first half of this chapter, with all the flashbacks and all, weren't boring. I mean, it "revealed" a lot of things that we already know about the characters, anyway, so... um... yeah.

Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**PART TWO**

**CHAPTER ELEVEN **

Nathaniel had, on more than a few occasions, wished that all connections between Nicola and Bartholomew didn't exist. The man was simply a jerk, completely undeserving of Nicola's time and smiles, and it had always irritated Nathaniel to know that the viscount took advantage of Nicola's friendship with his sister. (The fact that Nathaniel could be guilty for the exact same crime was not important at the moment.) Nathaniel had imagined the different scenarios in which the horrid engagement would be broken. Some involved Nicola and the viscount peacefully agreeing to go their separate ways, and some involved her leaving the viscount begging her for another chance. All of them involved Eleanor, Nathaniel, and the rest of the Sheridans supporting Nicola.

None of the said scenarios involved Nicola's heart being broken, her tears streaming down her cheeks as she cried on Eleanor's lap.

And yet that was _exactly_ what had happened.

After Nicola arrived at the Sheridan home to seek refuge, she had been whisked away to the sanctuary of Eleanor's room. Nathaniel followed right behind his mother and sister to offer help as needed, but the Lady Sheridan told him that she and Eleanor would take care of the weeping girl. The doors closed behind her, leaving Nathaniel in the hallway to listen to the muffled sounds of Nicola's sobbing. Then, deciding that he was only torturing himself by just standing there, he stalked to his study where he tried to focus on something else. He was unsuccessful, of course; he only stared unseeingly at the pieces of paper on his desk as his mind drifted back to Nicola.

Nathaniel had never felt so useless.

How simply _perfect_ it was for things to go this way right after his epiphany.

But still, there was still something to be happy about: she wasn't going to be stuck in a marriage with a jerk! And a jerk was what Sebastian Bartholomew was, if the man's behavior the next morning was anything to go by.

It was a short time after breakfast — Nicola didn't have the strength, both physically and emotionally, to join them — that it began. The Lord and Lady Sheridan had left, and Nathaniel himself was on his way out to meet with Sir John.

"Do pick up a new book for Nicky, would you, Nat?" Eleanor asked him as she saw him to the door, making him raise an eyebrow.

"Eleanor, have you forgotten what I think about poetry?"

"It doesn't have to be poetry," Eleanor said.

"If it's not poetry, then I doubt Nicky would like it," Nathaniel told her. "Especially if it came from me."

"Oh, Nat, I'm sure Nicky would appreciate whatever you get for her."

"Is that so?" Nathaniel scoffed. "It's not like she ever appreciated anything I gave her."

"It's not like you ever gave her anything."

"Touché."

"Say you'll do Nicky this favor?" Eleanor implored as Nathaniel put on his coat.

"All right, all right," Nathaniel relented, taking the doorknob. "But don't blame me if she doesn't—"

Nathaniel stopped in mid-sentence, his words dying at the sight that greeted him outside the door. All at once, several emotions bombarded him one after the other. First came surprise — _"What is he doing here?"_ — and then there was anger — _"What is this git doing here?"_ — only to be joined by the nearly overwhelming urge to laugh...

_What dark, enchanted forest did he go through to get here?!_

Nathaniel supposed that laughing at a guest would be an impolite thing to do, regardless of the fact that the man didn't quite deserve to be treated with politeness at the moment. And so Nathaniel stood there, skillfully keeping a straight face, and the Viscount Farnsworth frowned, further worsening his disheveled appearance. Already the blue-eyed noble looked so pitifully unkempt: his usually smoothed golden hair was untidy, his formerly crisp coat was slightly crumpled, and he looked pale and weary. For one fleeting moment, Nathaniel wondered if it was possible that the viscount was, in fact, truly in love with Nicola, and what was before him was picture of a heartbroken man.

But then the viscount's frown turned into a scowl, and immediately Nathaniel concluded that the proud prick was still a proud prick.

"Sheridan," the viscount said with distaste.

"Bartholomew," Nathaniel replied with equal enthusiasm.

Pointing and laughing truly did seem to be a tempting idea then, but Nathaniel was not about to stoop down to the level of a jeering scum. He resigned himself, therefore, to infuriate the viscount in another way.

"What brings you to our home this morning?" Nathaniel asked, eyebrow raised. The other man's face tightened.

"Don't pretend like you don't know, Sheridan," the Lord Sebastian seethed. "I came to collect my fianceé."

"Ex-fianceé."

If possible, the viscount scowled even deeper, his fists clenching. There came a small gasp behind him, and Nathaniel felt his sister hastily climb the stairs, undoubtedly to alert Nicola of the new arrival.

"I'm sorry, Lord Sebastian," Nathaniel continued politely, "but Miss Sparks is not accepting visitors at the moment."

"You shall let me see her, Sheridan."

"You have no right to demand that, sir."

"You won't stop me."

"I believe I already am."

The whole time that Nathaniel had known Sebastian Bartholomew, he had always found it a wonder how the man managed to look like a gentleman, mo matter what he did. He may have been flirting with women or insulting his fellow students, but, to the untrained eye, he appeared to be having an intelligent conversation. The viscount maintained his image of a nobleman, and Nathaniel had never seen him lose that cool, self-conceited air around him.

That was why what happened next caught him off-guard.

Nathaniel had barely finished his short sentence when, suddenly, a clenched fist was flying towards him, and then, in the next second, he was staggering back several steps. He vaguely heard someone exclaim "Mr. Sheridan!" somewhere nearby, and the sound of hurried steps.

Nathaniel was disoriented for a moment, but when he recovered a few seconds later, Bartholomew was already inside the house, and trying to climb the steps that would lead to upper rooms where Nicola was. Fortunately, two of the Sheridans' footmen had taken hold of his arms, and were currently stopping his ascent.

"**NICOLA!**" the viscount yelled. "Nicola, you will come down this instant! **Do you hear me?!**"

"Sir!" one of the footmen exclaimed. "My lord, please calm down!"

"Unhand me, you—!!!"

"Pull yourself together, man!" Nathaniel yelled, stepping in once more.

"You will let me see my fianceé, Sheridan!"

"**Ex-**fianceé!" Nathaniel shot back. "She already gave you back your ring!"

"I don't care!" was the other man's heated reply, his blue eyes flashing. "I'm marrying her and you won't stop me!"

"You don't even love her, do you?!"

**"That doesn't matter!"**

"What the bloody hell?!" Nathaniel almost involuntarily exclaimed. But the other man didn't even seem to hear him.

"This isn't about something so insignificant," the viscount went on. "You don't know anything! There's a bigger picture here and it—"

Sebastian suddenly froze, as if he only then realized what he was saying. Nathaniel himself stood there, stunned.

"A bigger picture"?

Did this have anything to do with Edward Pease, after all?

After a moment of tense silence, the startled look on Sebastian's face faded, and, with a heave, he broke free of the footmen's grasp. The blond man gave a huff as he took a step backwards and made a futile attempt to straighten out his cravat.

"What's happening between my fianceé—"

"**EX-**fianceé."

"—and me is none of your business, Sheridan. Stay out of this."

"Believe me, I want nothing to do with your business," Nathaniel told him, "but since you're trying to get something _in_ my home, it would be quite difficult for me to 'stay out'."

The viscount flinched, but nevertheless declared, "I shall return to see Nicola tomorrow."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. After all that, the man was still going to come back?

Amazing.

"I'm sure she will feel up to it to receive me," the viscount continued, his voice taking on an astonishingly calm tone. "I trust you won't get in the way, Mr. Sheridan?"

"If you act civilly, then we shall see, Mr. Bartholomew," Nathaniel replied.

The viscount said nothing for a moment, contenting himself with simply glaring at Nathaniel, before turning around to leave the Sheridan home.

True to his word, the Viscount Farnsworth returned the next morning, looking more presentable than the day before, and even wielding a bouquet of roses. He seemed to have calmed down, too, as he was immensely courteous when the Lady Sheridan greeted him in the parlor. Nicola, however, would not see her former fiancé. But still, Sebastian, persisted waiting in the Sheridans' parlor and sending bouquet after bouquet of roses while he was otherwise preoccupied.

Even though Nicola was staying in his own home, Nathaniel didn't seem to have more luck than Sebastian when it came to speaking with her. For the next several days, Nicola stayed in her room. And when she finally did feel well enough to join the family for dinner, the only words Nathaniel exchanged with her was "Good evening".

Just thinking about that awkward moment made Nathaniel want to hit his head on his desk.

He simply didn't know what to say; he thanked the heavens that he had the mind at all to greet her. It would only be putting salt on an open wound if he was to talk with her about Lord Sebastian. If he talked to her about other things, it would only be like walking on eggshells around each other. And it would be a horribly bad time to tell her how he felt about her.

Well, it was only her first night out of her room, and she was a bit awkward with everyone. Nathaniel was sure that she would be more comfortable after a while. He would wait. He had already waited for six years, although unknowingly, so he supposed that several more days — or weeks, or months — shouldn't be so bad.

Hopefully.

The trouble with waiting, though, wasn't so much the patience needed while the desired has yet to come. The problem was the unforeseen events that may occur during the time of waiting.

Events like other people attempting to disrupt Nicola's emotional recovery.

Nathaniel was alerted of such an event while he was working in his study on the day Nicola finally left her room.

"Thank you, Monique," Nathaniel said as one of the maids brought him the glass of water he had asked for. "Has the Lord Sebastian arrived for today?"

"Not yet, monseiur."

"Remember to notify me if the Viscount has come again."

"Oui."

"On second thought, notify me if anybody comes looking for Miss Sparks."

"Ah, Lord Renshaw is downstairs, monseiur."

Nathaniel straightened up at that, blinking up at the maid. "Lord Renshaw?"

"Oui, monsieur. He has been speaking with Miss Sparks in the parlor for quite a while now."

"All right," Nathaniel said after a moment. "Thank you, Monique."

As the maid bowed and left the room, Nathaniel leaned back on his chair, considering the possibilities.

What could Lord Renshaw be here for? Beckwell Abbey was the most obvious answer, but Nathaniel wondered if the Grouser would be so harsh as to try to debate with Nicola right when she was somewhat in the middle of an emotional crisis. Perhaps the old man believed that one should strike while the enemy — relative or no — was down.

Or... perhaps Nicola's engagement and the selling of the abbey really did have a connection.

Raking his fingers through his hair, Nathaniel stood up and left the room, deciding that he should make sure that the Grouser didn't further upset Nicola. But when Nicola's angry voice reached his ears even when he was at a considerable distance from the parlor, Nathaniel realized that he was a tad bit too late. He didn't actually catch what Nicola had said — she could have been complaining about the weather, for all he knew — but that tone in her voice told him enough. The Grouser had obviously said something that not only roused Nicola's anger, but had also stung her quite painfully.

Nathaniel very nearly growled as his steps quickened, fully intending to fling the parlor doors open and come to Nicola's rescue, disregarding all protocol of politeness and yell at the offending lord.

But when the said doors opened by themselves, and the said lord walked out while coughing thickly, Nathaniel stopped. The lord didn't seem to have seen him — he appeared to be either angry, preoccupied, or both to notice Nathaniel down the hall — and went on to cough in his handkerchief as he made his way to the front door.

And then he was gone.

Thus, Nathaniel found himself in a very, very familiar situation. Him wishing he could do something but not knowing what to do as he stood in the hallway outside the room Nicola was in...

Nathaniel reckoned he could talk to her. He didn't know what to do or say, but still...

_"It's not like you ever gave her anything,"_ Eleanor had said that day that felt so long ago.

Heaving a sigh, Nathaniel placed a hand on the doors that separated him from her.

Well, now, he had something to give her.

And so, not giving himself time for second thoughts, Nathaniel gripped the knob and opened the door.


	12. Chapter 12

You guys, thank you thank you thank you for sticking with me and waiting even though I didn't update for a month. Hehe. So, as a treat for you aaand to celebrate the 4th of September, the International FuyuSarah Day (the day I was popped into the world of the living), here's a fast update! Yey!

This was, by far, the hardest chapter to write. Partly because the _whole _chapter was in the book, so I had to be careful about writing it and making sure that I had enough original stuff to claim this as fanfiction. I couldn't omit anything, either, because this is, like one of the key chapters, so...Ahehe. For the most part, though, this was tricky because this is one of the most anticipated chapters, and screwing it up would be immensely disappointing.

So here's the long-awaited Chapter Twelve. I hope you guys enjoy it!

**Disclaimer: **_Nicola and the Viscount _is Meg Cabot's. Not mine. All the characters and all the spoken dialogue in this chapter are conjured up by Meg Cabot. I just tried to fill in the blanks in between in an attempt to satisfy my fluff-hungry self.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE **

He wanted to hug her.

That was all he wished to do at the moment: cross the room, scoop her into his arms and hug her. She looked so frail and helpless, curled up in the divan...

The other thing Nathaniel wanted to do was go after the Grouser so he could beat him to a pulp for being responsible for the deflated state Nicola was in. Yes, that idea was very tempting indeed.

But, Nicola was right there in the room, her beautiful face looking pale amidst the roses, and she needed him. Well, she needed _someone_; Nathaniel was just lucky that he happened to be there.

Deciding that it was better to take action instead of standing silently by the doorway, Nathaniel took a step forward and called, "Nicky?"

She shot up, startled, her sapphire eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"It's only me," Nathaniel said, carefully sitting beside her, giving her time to shoo him out of the room if she needed some more time alone. "I heard the shouting. Are you all right?"

Nicola nodded wordlessly, her lips clamped shut. She made a move to quickly dab her eyes with the lace trim of her sleeve — a move that was most probably meant to hide her tears from him.

It disappointed Nathaniel a little to see Nicola try to put a front for him, especially at a time like this. Did she assume that he would think less of her for crying? Why, of course he wouldn't! He had known her for so long, he practically knew her inside out, and he would still love her even if she cried like a child. Surely she knew that... didn't she?

Or maybe she thought he was going to tease her about being a crybaby. Well, given his record of being a merciless teaser, it shouldn't be a surprise if she did.

Suppressing a sigh, Nathaniel fished his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She looked up at him when she noticed it; Nathaniel wasn't sure if it was from surprise that he noticed her tears, or that he was offering the cloth at all.

"Go ahead," he said. "It's clean."

She thanked him quietly and accepted the handkerchief. As she daintily wiped her cheeks, Nathaniel inwardly rolled his eyes at himself.

"It's clean"?

"_It's clean_"?!

What on earth was _that_? Couldn't he have said something more helpful? Then again, perhaps something so irrelevant and fitting for small talk was what was needed at the moment. One couldn't very quickly go and talk about serious matters from one person to the next. A fair amount of time was usually given to small talk and silence.

Nicola gave a small sniff — one so small that it could have been involuntary — and Nathaniel decided that it was about the right time to strike a conversation.

"I suppose," he began, "that Lord Renshaw isn't too happy with you just now."

"Not very," Nicola said. "Not only won't I marry anyone he's picked out for me, but I won't make proper business decisions, either. He said he's quite washed his hands of me."

_"Well, the Grouser has poor taste in picking out blokes for you," _Nathaniel wanted to say. But, instead of fueling negative thoughts, he decided to be the optimist and point out that it was actually as good thing, because a fellow like the Lord Renshaw wasn't the type anyone would want mucking about in their personal business.

Nicola agreed, adding, "I can only hope he's telling the truth when he says he shan't bother about me anymore. The way my luck's been going lately, I hardly dare believe it."

"I wouldn't say that," Nathaniel had to say, looking at the vase of golden yellow roses beside him. "I think you're luck's been extraordinarily good lately."

To that, Nicola laughed in surprise and disbelief.

"Me?" she cried. "Good luck? Are you mad? I get engaged to a horrid fellow who was apparently only marrying me so his father could run a railroad through my parlor" — Ah, so Nathaniel _had_ been right about that, after all — "and you say my luck's been good?"

Well, she had a point right there, and perhaps Nathaniel _was _being a bit selfish when he said that things were getting better... But still, everything had a good and bad side, didn't it?

It was just like a rose, Nathaniel thought as he took one from the vase he had been gazing at. Roses were truly beautiful, but their soft, colorful petals were first protected by long thorns that were painful to touch. And the only way to keep from repeatedly getting pricked by those thorns was to break off the bloom neatly, just as Nathaniel just did.

Examining the half-blown flower in his fingers, Nathaniel absently thought how fragrant those flowers were, if only one were to forget who had sent them.

"I'd say so," he answered Nicola. "After all, you found out the truth in time, didn't you?"

"Thanks to you."

Recognizing the slight sourness in her voice, Nathaniel looked up to see her sporting a disappointed look.

"It would have been better for you to find out _after _ you'd married him that the bloke's a cheat and a scoundrel?" he asked, eyebrow raised. A soft pink hue colored Nicola's cheeks then — Nathaniel couldn't help but think how adorable she looked when she blushed — perhaps slightly embarrassed.

"Well... No, of course not. But"

"It would have been better if he hadn't been trying to use you at all," Nathaniel finished for her. "Yes, I agree. Still, you must admit, Nicky, as far as luck goes, if you're counting good friends, and people who care for you, you're flush with it."

That said, Nathaniel handed the half-blown rose to her, his calm face and confident words hiding his nervousness...

...the nervousness that hit him when he realized that what he had just said — coupled with his giving Nicola a flower, which he had never done before — was terribly close to actually admitting his feelings for her. He was already toeing the line bordering their formerly comfortable, bickering relationship, and, as Nicola took the rose with her eyes downcast, Nathaniel was certain that she would figure him out. The idea scared him a little; Nicola already had enough to worry about, thanks to that annoying git.

Finding the need to break the silence, Nathaniel spoke, as lightly as he could, the first words that came to mind.

And those words were, "So I suppose your heart is broken."

Nathaniel immediately winced at himself. Of course, because he had been thinking so worriedly about her heart, that was what he had blurted out.

How idiotic.

Still, the words had been released, and there was nothing to do but stand by it. After all, Nathaniel was also genuinely curious, despite his dislike for the topic. Fortunately, Nicola was too busy admiring the delicate rose, and she seemed to be completely oblivious of his discomfort as she passionately answered that she was naturally heartbroken at the thought that anyone would think of destroying such lovely meadows.

"What kind of wicked mind would even contemplate doing something so horrid?" she was saying. "Clearly the Grouser has never heard that 'Nature never did betray the heart that loved her'."

Good heavens, couldn't Nicola refrain from poetry?

"Wordsworth, again?"

"_Tintern Abbey._"

"Appropriate under the circumstances, I suppose," Nathaniel said, letting that one slide without much argument. "But I confess I wasn't talking about the Grouser. I meant Sebastian Bartholomew."

"Oh," she said, her gaze dropping to the rose again. She was silent for a moment, and Nathaniel found himself anxiously waiting for her reply. He directed his gaze towards another vase of roses — there were dozens in the room to choose from — just as Nicola spoke again.

"I don't know," she said. "Not irreparably broken, I imagine. They are supposed to be rather resilient, and mine oughtn't be any different from anyone else's... I suppose I shall have to wait and see."

Nathaniel nodded, keeping his eyes on the flowers, unable to look back at her yet. He had been worried about the effects of her broken engagement had on Nicola, but it looked like he needn't worry too much. She was a strong girl, and, even though Nathaniel had yet to find out what exactly her feelings for the viscount were, Nicola seemed to be recovering quite nicely. Still, the wave of relief he felt when he heard her answer was rather alarming; despite his encouragements to her, Nicola's situation wasn't really something to be too happy about.

Nathaniel felt that he was being very selfish at the moment. He had suspected — and, even more so, hoped — that Nicola did not actually love Sebastian Bartholomew, and was instead only infatuated with him. And now that she was not only released from their engagement but also appeared to be free from whatever power the viscount had over her, Nathaniel had to exert extra effort to be polite and not to smile too widely. To say the least, he was torn between feeling utterly guilty and being ridiculously overjoyed.

He stole a glance at Nicola, fully expecting her to still be gazing thoughtfully at her flower. To his surprise, her sapphire eyes were looking right at him, a faint blush coloring her cheeks again. This was the first time, Nathaniel realized, that Nicola looked at him that way, her eyes lacking that feisty spark, but were instead filled with something else... Something so familiar yet brand new...

And then, all too quickly, the contact was lost when Nicola looked away. But Nathaniel, for the life of him, could not bring himself to avert his eyes; his gaze almost immediately fell to her lips. They seemed to draw him in, just as much as her bright blue eyes did, and Nathaniel felt himself on the verge of disregarding all rational thought. Truly, it would be highly irrational for him to raise his hand to gingerly touch Nicola's cheek, making her look at him again...

Her cherry lips moved, and, vaguely, as if it was in a distant reality, Nathaniel heard her ask, "How did you know?"

"Know what?" Nathaniel heard himself saying, barely able to focus on stringing more than two words together in a sentence. Nicola was close enough, he reckoned, and Nathaniel could easily swoop down and claim her lips.

"About Mr. Pease," Nicola said, effectively breaking Nathaniel out of his trance. "And his connection to Lord Farelly."

Well, that was the perfect way to yank him back to reality.

"Oh," Nathaniel said in an unintentionally flat tone, scrambling to put his mind back on track. "That. Yes. Well, I read about it in the newspaper. The Blutcher, I mean." He then proceeded to tell her a summary of how he put the pieces together — he tried to sound as far from an absent-minded professor as possible, but he feared that he had begun to ramble after a few sentences — and ended it with saying, "It was only a guess, but a reasonable one."

"You always did have a very sound and deductive mind," Nicola said. "My compliments, Mr. Sheridan."

Her words sent Nathaniel into near panic, and, almost instinctively, reached out to hold her hand in an effort to gain her full attention. When she looked up at him, Nathaniel charged on, ignoring her shock of his sudden movement.

"I hope you don't think, Nicky," he said, looking straight into her eyes, "that I _wanted _ to be right. About Bartholomew, I mean. I hope you know I'd have given anything — _anything _— to have been wrong, if it would have meant sparing you any kind of pain."

And he truly would have. Right from the very beginning, even before he realized that he was in love with her, Nathaniel had already wished that he had deducted wrongly. In spite of what he thought about Sebastian Bartholomew, Nathaniel had truly prayed that he was only jumping to conclusions.

Nicola had to understand that.

Nathaniel _needed_ her to understand that.

And then, as Nicola sat there, her wide, astonished sapphire eyes returning his own steady gaze, Nathaniel felt the urge to kiss her come back with full force. Whether it was from the feelings he had kept bottled up for days on top of being ignored for weeks — maybe even years— or from the rush of emotion brought about by the present topic of conversation, Nathaniel didn't know. What he did know, however, was that he wanted so much to embrace her, it took all his willpower not to lean forward and catch her lips with his own.

But... Why was he trying so hard to stop himself, again?

It was at that moment, that precise moment when Nathaniel finally decided to throw all caution to the wind and began to move in, that the doors burst open, causing Nathaniel to practically jump back to his end of the couch.

An award should have been given to Eleanor Sheridan for making such a dramatic entrance.

"Oh, there you are," she cried. "We saw the Grouser had left, but couldn't find you anywhere. Are you all right? He wasn't beastly to you, was he?"

"Only middling," Nicola replied with a laugh.

Nathaniel, though, was too busy willing his pounding heart to calm down to notice the exchange. Nevertheless, he was alert enough to feel someone's gaze on him, and he looked up to see Sir Hugh sporting a very familiar smirk.

Ha. Trust Hugh Parker to take one simple glance and immediately know what was going on. How inconveniently perceptive of him.

Glaring up at his friend whose smirk only widened in response, half of Nathaniel wanted to strangle Sir Hugh for interrupting. He would die an honorable death, saving Eleanor from Nathaniel's wrath, for, of course, the eldest Sheridan simply could not hurt his own sister.

But half of Nathaniel was also grateful for the other couple's impeccable timing. Nicola's engagement had only been broken for barely a week, and if word was to come out the she was already kissing her new hostess's brother... Well... Nathaniel didn't even want to think what that would mean for Nicola. More importantly, though, Eleanor could not have entered at a better time, because the last thing Nicola needed right now was a raw display of affection...

...especially if the affection was one-sided.

"I say," Sir Hugh spoke up as he inspected the state of the parlor. "This place has taken a bit of a funeral tone, don't you think?"

Nathaniel rolled his eyes at that statement, and Eleanor, for her part, kicked her fiancé's ankle for bringing up something so morbid at a time like this.

Sir Hugh, however, only raised an eyebrow and said, "What are you kicking me for, Eleanor? All I was saying is that if I were Miss Sparks, hanging about in this mausoleum of a room would not be at all appealing. What say you ride in my curricle, Miss Sparks? You haven't been out-of-doors in days, I know, and I think it would be just the thing, a little wind in your hair, and sun on your cheeks."

Nathaniel stole a glance at Nicola to see her look down at the rose on her lap. She seemed to contemplate Sir Hugh's suggestion for a moment, before the corners of her mouth slowly lifted to form a small smile.

"Why, thank you, Sir Hugh," she said, looking up. "I should like that very much... That is, if the Sheridans would join us."

As he heard Eleanor express her agreement, Nathaniel took a moment to gaze at Nicola — the girl who was looking up at him with sparkling eyes, her lovely face flushed and her cheeks pink as she held one golden bloom in her hand. And then, giving her his own smile, he nodded.

"It'd be my pleasure."

* * *

Oh, wow, it's been a while since I wrote one whole chapter in one sitting! I had to reread this over and over, though, editing things here and there, for the reasons I mentioned before the chapter itself.

Sorry, but am I making Nathaniel a tad bit too violent? Haha! See, it'd be terribly boring if Nathaniel really was as calm as he appears to be, so I let myself have some fun while we're inside his head.

Oh, and I have to admit that, after rereading the original chapter in the book, I realized that I made a LOT of mistakes in details in the previous chapters. Like, Nat and Nicky first met at her school recitation, not the first day Eleanor moved to Madame's. Also, I had written the Blutcher to be the name of a newspaper, when, in fact, it was the name of the train that was going to run across Beckwell Abbey. And, in this chapter, Nicola had received the Grouser in the drawing room, but then retreated to the parlor (which totally explains why Eleanor couldn't find her). But nobody seemed to notice, so...yeah. Hehe.

I'm not sure if I can update this fast again, so I apologize in advance if it takes a while.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **_Nicola and the Viscount _is Meg Cabot's. Not mine. All the characters aren't mine, either. I just like to dress them up and play Barbie with them. (Sir John wasn't in Meg's roster of characters, though, so technically, he's mine. I wish dear Nathaniel was mine, too, but...yeah. No such luck.)

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN **

It was to be expected, of course, that Nicola's arrival at Almack's Assembly Rooms the Wednesday immediately following the breaking of her engagement would be a thing of murmur. While some looked upon her presence with disapproval, some admired her courage... And some wondered if she had lost her head, for she not only refused Sebastian Bartholomew, one of the most eligible bachelors in society, but she also had the nerve to face her critics head-on.

She announced her decision just that afternoon during luncheon, where she made a spectacular show of being so calm about it despite the shock of everyone else present. All sounds — animated conversations and the clicking of forks on plates included — immediately stopped at her declaration. Even Phillip stopped talking — though whether it was because of Nicola's announcement, or simply because of the sudden silence, Nathaniel wasn't sure. Eleanor made a small squeak but said nothing else, therefore making the silence even more pronounced. Nathaniel, who did not expect her to even consider the idea despite the fact that he had always known that Nicola was not like other girls, stopped chewing and openly stared at her across the table.

"Nicola!" Lady Sheridan exclaimed once she recovered. "Almack's? Tonight? Eleanor, did you know about this?"

"No, Mama," Eleanor said, a worried look upon her features.

"My goodness, child, are you certain of what you are about to do?"

"Yes, my lady," Nicola answered, firm while being polite. "I understand that the norm dictates that a woman in my position should retreat into seclusion. But I must say that the thought of doing such a thing does not sit well with me."

"I wouldn't call it seclusion..."

"I have no wish of hiding from public scrutiny when I know that people _are_ scrutinizing me," Nicola continued. "I have stayed in my room long enough, and it would not do me well to isolate myself longer. Why, even if I do, who's to say people won't talk behind my back once I go outside next season?"

"Well, you could give matrons time to look for something else to gossip about."

"Nathaniel!"

"Not that all matrons gossip, of course," Nathaniel added promptly, smiling at his mother's scolding eyes. Hearing a snicker so faint that it might have been his imagination, Nathaniel side-glanced Nicola. Whether or not she snickered, the corners of her lips arched up ever so slightly, but she still succeeded in keeping a straight face as she tried to sway the mistress of the house to her favor.

"You've no time to prepare!" the Lady Sheridan said, turning back to Nicola.

"I still have a few hours," the younger lady answered readily.

"What of your dress?"

"I could always add spice to one of my other ones."

Lady Sheridan paused, and, despite her obvious displeasure, she seemed to be already considering Nicola's request.

"I know it's not proper, Lady Sheridan, but—"

"It's not that it's not proper, Nicola." Lady Sheridan said, kindness warm in her voice. "Heaven knows I wish nothing else for you but to enjoy the rest of the season. But I am concerned of how this will affect you; I dare say you've already been affected enough."

"I've already been affected enough," Nicola nodded, "and I shall be affected no more. I care not whether people whisper sharply about me, or turn their back to me and ignore me completely. It is enough for me to know that you, Lady Sheridan, and your whole family are supporting me."

And with that she smiled at every Sheridan present.

"Even me?"

"Yes, Phillip, even you."

Nathaniel shook his head in amusement as Nicola smiled for his younger brother. Nicola and her speeches... And, oh, her heartwarming smile. Lady Sheridan would only be a stiff mother — or a horrendously strict one — not to give in to Nicola's plea.

"I see that the young lady has made up her mind," Lord Sheridan said, smiling. "I think we should allow her come with us, don't you?"

"I suppose it cannot be helped..." Lady Sheridan finally said. "Do keep an eye on her, would you, Nathaniel?"

Nathaniel glanced at Nicola right in time to see her cheeks go from a pleasantly faint rose color to an embarrassed pink shade. She opened her mouth to protest, but when her already surprised sapphire eyes met his gaze, the words she was about to utter remained trapped in her throat.

"Of course," Nathaniel answered his mother. "Don't I always?"

Nicola narrowed her eyes at him as he popped a piece of carrot into his mouth and chewed happily, his own hazel eyes practically daring her to pick a fight over the dining table. She didn't, of course, and decided instead to resume eating, as well.

So it was that the rest of London's high society was shocked to see Nicola Sparks enter the Assembly Rooms. There was an audible hush when she gracefully walked in with her hosts, but Nicola kept her cool, calm demeanor. But, even with her solid determination, and behind her nonchalant and politely smiling face, she was as nervous as any girl in her situation would be. Nathaniel confirmed this when her grip on his arm tightened, and her breathing quickened every so slightly. Nicola Sparks, for all her bravery and feistiness, was only human, after all.

Nathaniel smiled, placing his free hand on her tense fingers, giving it a small squeeze. He didn't glance at her so as not to direct more attention towards her, but he knew that she understood his meaning as her grip relaxed.

After that, Nicola fared extremely well as she answered her fellow debutantes' excited questions with a laugh, returned sympathetic smiles, ignored condescending looks, and took overheard murmurs with a grain of salt. Even when the Bartholomews arrived, Nicola didn't seem to be affected. And when Honoria snubbed her in the middle of the quadrille, Nicola kept her eyes on Sir Hugh, who was doing a remarkable job of cracking jokes whenever Nicola was close enough to hear him.

As the night wore on, Nathaniel felt prouder and prouder of Nicola for holding up so admirably. It came to a point that he almost forgot that he had been worried of her emotional state. Instead, he admired how she glowed now that anxiety had left her features completely. Again, she took the form of a fairy, and the best part about this was: Nathaniel had her by his side.

Really, that by itself made Nathaniel think that nothing could go wrong.

Until, halfway into the night, he happened to glance at Nicola and he noticed, even from where he stood a couple of paces away from her while she spoke with an enthusiastic Eleanor, that Nicola's smile slowly fell. Nathaniel followed Nicola's line of vision across the room only to see the one man they had all hoped not to cross paths with.

The Viscount Farnsworth.

...And he was looking right back at Nicola.

Immediately Nathaniel felt the thick tension that suddenly descended in the room — and he was sure many others felt it, as well — and, for about three agonizing seconds, the gazes of the two formerly engaged pair locked. Nicola was the first to look away, her features nonchalant and unconcerned as she turned to Eleanor. The viscount returned the favor, averting his eyes to look at the matron speaking to him, seemingly oblivious of what had just transpired.

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes at his fellow bachelor. The ever-so-talented Mr. Bartholomew was smiling as he nodded slightly to the lady, but Nathaniel noted that the viscount managed to keep a countenance that enabled him to fit perfectly into the role of a rejected gentleman.

Nathaniel turned his attention back to Nicola, and quickly noted that she was glancing, albeit sideways, at the viscount again, her sapphire eyes somehow glazed over. Nathaniel wasn't the only one who noticed; his sister took her friend's shoulders and gave her a small shake.

"Jolly," Eleanor said in a whisper that reached Nathaniel's ears only because he was straining to hear. "He said he loved you because you are so _jolly_."

As Nicola wordlessly nodded to Eleanor and took a steadying breath, Nathaniel nearly burst out laughing.

_Jolly_? Good grief! After all his experience with flattering women and putting on a guise of a poetry-lover, could the viscount not have come up with anything better? Nathaniel was sure that Bartholomew had the vocabulary; how else would he have impressed Nicola enough to agree to marry him if he didn't?

"Parker," Nathaniel said under his breath, nudging his friend. "Remind me to thank the Lord Sebastian the next time I see him."

Sir Hugh, surprised, blinked at Nathaniel's request. "Thank him for what?"

"For choosing the most perfect adjective he could ever use to pertain to his then fiancée."

It took a moment for Sir Hugh to understand, but when he did, he grinned back at Nathaniel, nodding, "Gladly."

Frankly, Nathaniel would have walked over to Sebastian Bartholomew right that very moment, but, thinking of the volume of ladies and gentlemen who were currently sympathizing with the viscount, he reckoned that it probably wasn't a very wise thing to do. So, instead of approaching the blond nobleman, he stepped towards his sister and Nicola.

"Might I interest you in taking a seat for a while, Miss Sparks?" he asked, offering his arm.

Nicola smiled brightly at him — oh, how Nathaniel enjoyed that! — and accepted his offer. Several moments later, they were sitting by the window, enjoying a relaxed conversation. The topic had somehow drifted to clothing, and Nicola was animatedly pointing out to Nathaniel all the ways in which the other ladies present that evening might improve their appearance with only the slightest adjustments.of their wardrobe. Had it been a week or two earlier, Nathaniel knew he and Nicola would have been bickering heatedly by now, because she would have been annoyed at his joking comments about her love for fashion. But ever since that afternoon in the Sheridans' rose-filled parlor, Nathaniel realized that even Nicola had started enjoying his light teasing, if her response to them was any indication.

"Oh, hush," Nicola was saying, her blue eyes twinkling. "Clothes isn't just a necessity, Nathaniel. It's a form of self-expression."

"Ah, I see," Nathaniel said indulgingly, rolling his eyes. "Like poetry."

"Yes, like poetry."

"I hate poetry."

"I know."

"Then why do you speak with me about it?" Nathaniel asked, amused.

"Because, Nathaniel Sheridan, you're the one I'm stuck with," Nicola explained matter-of-factly. "Oh, now, look at Mrs. Baker over there... Do you see her?"

"Yes..." Nathaniel squinted a bit; Mrs. Baker was all the way in the far corner of the room. "Her dress seems fine to me, Nicky..."

"Well, I suppose it's fine if it's fine," Nicola said with a little exasperation in her voice. "But if you examine closely, her whole outfit isn't a good combination at all. Fashion is a form of self-expression, but there are still some conventions — rhyme and reason, if you will — to be followed."

Nathaniel blinked, frowning slightly. "I should think that one color for one outfit would be a good match..."

"Yes, but observe," Nicola began, taking on the air of a teacher. "Her gorgous green gown and her green shoes—"

"You can see her shoes?"

"—yes, I saw her shoes earlier—They go together well, but notice that she has a green flower hair pins. Pretty, if I say so myself. Her fan also has a flower design— Yes, before you ask, I saw it when she opened it a while back. Her sparkling earrings and necklace are also emerald..."

"And all this is wrong, how?"

"Oh, Nathaniel!" Nicola sighed. "Don't tell me you still don't see it!"

"Well, forgive me, Miss Sparks, but I don't!"

"They're all green, Nat," Nicola explained. "_All_ of it. In _one shade_! Her dress doesn't have a lace trim, so accents would have worked perfectly. As stunning as her emerald jewelry is, diamond or pearl accessories would have been much, _much_ more fitting. Her fan and her hair pin are both flowers, but not the similar flowers: they don't match at all despite the fact that they're both green. Her whole outfit is green, in a shade that would have gone well with her skin tone if only she chose at _least_ one accessory to be a shade or two lighter or darker. Why, she looks like a plant!"

"Nicky!"

"Well, she does!" Nicola said, laughing along with Nathaniel.

"Women's clothing seems to be tricky," Nathaniel thought out loud.

"It's not as if you can't say the same for men's clothing," Nicola pointed out. "You can never go wrong with black, that's true, but the challenge with men's clothing is that the fit should be exact for the build of the one wearing it, and it should also be worn well."

"Huh. I never thought of it that way," Nathaniel admitted.

"It just proves that you have a natural talent for clothes, whether or not you like fashion," Nicola said, nodding with conviction. "If only all the others were like you, Nat, Almack's would be full of handsomely dressed gentlemen."

Nathaniel turned sharply at Nicola in surprise, that one lock of hair falling on his eyes in the process. Did Nicola Sparks just compliment him? Him, Eleanor's stubborn older brother, the annoying Nathaniel Sheridan? Judging from the way she seemingly carelessly said it, Nathaniel wondered if she realized what she just said at all. But, carelessly or no, she just said she thought he looked handsome, didn't she? He didn't dare believe it.

As if feeling his gaze on her, Nicola glanced at him, blinking. "What?"

Nathaniel gave a slight start, clearing his throat. "So..." he began, turning to scan the dance floor. "Who else needs a wardrobe improvement?"

If Nicola noticed his embarrassment, she didn't comment on it, and instead joined him in looking for more examples.

"How about Miss Ashton?" Nathaniel said, nodding in the lady's direction. "You failed to mention her, I think."

Truth be told, Nathaniel thought that Stella looked fine — more than just 'fine', actually — in her pale pink dress.

"I suppose I didn't," Nicola realized. "She's already improved her wardrobe, I see, just by turning away from the yellow dresses she used to favor."

"Ah," Nathaniel agreed, keeping his gaze on the girl in question. "Yes, she does look lovely tonight, doesn't she?"

Nathaniel remembered that day when he and Stella Ashton had gone riding. She looked lovely that morning, and, if he recalled properly, the young lady had worn maroon, as opposed to the yellow dress she wore the previous night. Nicola was precisely right in her observations! Secretly, Nathaniel wondered if Nicola had given Stella that advice that helped her appearance so. Deny it verbally, he may, but Nicola's eye for fashion was simply amazing, considering that she had received no training of any kind.

It was when Nathaniel was thinking these thoughts that he realized she had yet to say anything else. He assumed that she was looking for other dresses to point out, but when he turned towards her, he found that her blue eyes looking up at him, and a strange look was upon her face. Her eyebrows were furrowed ever so slightly, as if she was examining him, and her lips were curved in a very interesting way. He couldn't call it a frown, but it was quite close to it...

This time, it was Nathaniel's turn to ask, "What?"

"Nothing," she said flatly, turning away. "I was just curious that you noticed _her_ out of all the ladies I failed to mention."

For the second time that night, Nicola's words silenced Nathaniel. But, even more than her words, what bothered him was the seemingly irritated expression on her formerly smiling face. Oddly feeling the need to explain himself, Nathaniel opened his mouth but, not finding the right words — or any word, for that matter — to say, closed it again.

Fortunately, something distracted Nicola out of her displeased state.

The distraction came in the form of Harold Blenkenship, which made Nathaniel wonder if the distraction truly was fortunate. The Milksop was not a welcome sight to begin with, and to make matters worse, the boy wore an umber sateen, matching it with a pink waistcoat. Even someone with the fashion sense of a cat would have said that the pale boy desperately needed professional help.

"Oh, Harold," Nicola exclaimed, and Nathaniel was sure she was more pained at the scene than he was. "Whatever is the matter with a black evening coat? There is nothing smarter, I think, than a man in a really well-tailored black—"

The Milksop interrupted, with more backbone than Nathaniel had ever seen him with, bowing at Nicola.

"Cousin," he said, "may I have a word with you in a most pressing matter? In _private?_"

And the last bit he said with a glance at Nathaniel, making his dark brown eyebrow rise slightly higher than it already was.

"You know, Blenkenship," he said, "it generally isn't considered at all the thing to discuss private matters at public assemblies. Why don't you call upon Miss Sparks tomorrow to discuss this pressing matter."

Nathaniel had tried to act as casually as possible, in case others might have overheard him, but he felt that he was unable to keep his tone from being a little commanding. And there was nothing casual with the way he looked at the boy, too, disapproval evident in his hazel orbs.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mr. Sheridan. I need to speak with Miss Sparks, and at once," the Milksop said with such urgency that Nathaniel began to wonder what this important matter was.

Beside him, Nicola sighed and stood up, extending her hand to her cousin.

"You may walk me up and down the room," she said sternly. "But only once. If you cannot say all you have to say in that time, then I advise you to put the rest in a letter, as I haven't the patience tonight to listen to it... as I suppose you can imagine."

Everyone, of course, understood what Nicola had meant in her last remark. She gave Nathaniel a glance before turning to leave with her cousin, to which Nathaniel nodded, telling her without words that he would be right there, and would come to her aid the moment she needed it.

Nicola seemed to understand as she smiled, and, without further delay, disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

-

I mean, seriously, Nicola _obviously_ noticed that Nathaniel had escorted Stella in the book. And, with Meg mentioning the girl more than once (and the way she did it), I just sort of got the feeling that there was some kind of slight, healthy rivalry between the two. So there you go. I had myself some fun with a Nicky-gets-jealous scene. Hehe.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **_Nicola and the Viscount _is Meg Cabot's. Not mine. All the characters and all the spoken dialogue in this chapter are conjured up by Meg Cabot. I just tried to fill in the blanks in between in an attempt to satisfy my fluff-hungry self.

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN **

"Are you sure you're all right with this?"

Nathaniel turned around to see Sir Hugh sitting beside him — Nathaniel hadn't heard his approach — a hint of concern seeping into his usually jolly demeanor. Nathaniel looked around, but Eleanor wasn't anywhere near line of sight.

"Strange to see you without my sister within arm's length," he joked, leaning back on his chair.

"We're engaged, Sheridan, not chained to each other," Sir Hugh answered, laughing a bit. "And here I thought you'd be happy I'm not keeping her all to myself."

"Considering the many suitors she's had before you, I actually thought you would."

"Ah, but she chose _me_ over all those other suitors, did she not?"

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, shaking his head at his friend. "You're terribly confident, you realize that, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, because I have full rights to being confident," Sir Hugh stated, grinning.

"I take it back. You're not confident. You're conceited."

"Perhaps. But not as conceited as a certain viscount... Then again, I suppose no one's as conceited as he."

Nathaniel only grunted in reponse, not seeing the topic worthy of conversation.

"But, we digress," Sir Hugh said, his laughter dying. "Again, I ask, are you sure you're all right with this?"

"All right with what?" Nathaniel asked. As if the heavens willed it, the dancing participants in the middle of the room parted long enough for the two gentlemen to catch a glimpse of Nicola and her cousin on the other side of the room, before the sight was blocked again by of coats and gowns.

"With that," and Sir Hugh giving a small indicating wave to Nicola's general direction. "Leaving her with that boy."

"We're nowhere near engaged, Parker, much less chained to each other," Nathaniel quipped. "And it was Nicky who decided to go."

"Well, nothing I can say to that, I suppose," Sir Hugh nodded.

There was comfortable silence for a few moments, until Sir Hugh clapped his palms on his knees and stood up.

"I think I'm going to look for my fiancée now. It never is proper to leave a lady without an escort too long. How about you? Would you like to use your legs while waiting for The Milksop to finish his piece? He appears to be behaving enough tonight."

Nathaniel tried to catch another glance of Nicola and the mentioned milksop, but, since the volume of people prevented him from doing so, he stood up and joined Sir Hugh to weave through the crowd.

"There you two are," Eleanor greeted them, smiling as the two gentlemen approached. "I was wondering where you ambled off to."

"Nowhere you should be worried about," Sir Hugh replied in his usual light-hearted manner. "I found Mr. Sheridan brooding in a corner."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't put me where I wasn't, Mr. Parker," Nathaniel said smiling, although his eyes were narrowed at his friend. And then, turning to the other lady in the group, he said, with genuine smile, "Good evening, Miss Ashton."

"And good evening to you, too, Mr. Sheridan. Mr. Parker, as well."

"Good evening," Sir Hugh replied, giving a little bow. "I hope you won't take offense if I excuse myself and my fiancée for a dance?"

"Not at all," Stella said, just as Nathaniel nodded to Eleanor, who glanced at him in acknowledgement.

"Quite a match, if I may say so," Stella commented once she was alone with Nathaniel.

"Yes, they are," he agreed. "My sister made a good choice."

Stella nodded as she tipped her glass of punch a little, making the liquid inside swirl. It seemed to Nathaniel that it was a habit of Stella's to do that.

"And how about you, Mr. Sheridan? How have things been since we last saw each other?"

"Things have been going quite well, thank you for asking."

"I pray you have been sleeping well recently?"

"I... Yes, I have, thank you."

Stella smiled, the corner of her well-shaped lips curving as if she knew a secret that the world would be dying to know. "I should hope so," she said, "with Miss Sparks safe in your estate. If you lost your sleep despite that, then I suppose it would be for an entirely different reason."

Nathaniel stopped at that, blinking at the lady beside him.

"I beg your pardon?"

Stella, however, didn't offer an explanation, and instead went on to say, as if to herself, "That reminds me: I wonder what Miss Sparks might say when she sees us tonight. Isn't it that she isn't engaged to Lord Sebastian anymore? Oh, I do hope she won't feel negatively towards me. She has no reason to be anxious, as we are only friends."

There was a pregnant pause as Nathaniel blinked once more. Let it not be said, however, that Nathaniel did not understand what Stella was implying. It only surprised him that Stella Ashton, a sweet, gentle lady, had the capacity to be so manipulative. (Not in an ill way, of course.)

"Miss Ashton," Nathaniel said, eyeing Stella pointedly when the shock wore off, "are you trying to play matchmaker?"

Stella laughed, and immediately Nathaniel was reminded of a scheming witch in fairytales. Only this witch was polite, beautiful, and without a malicious bone in her body. Nay, _this_ witch could hardly be called a witch, except that she had a talent for being crafty with her words.

"I have no need to be a matchmaker, Mr. Sheridan," she said just as Nathaniel noticed Sir John approaching. "You see, the match is already made."

Nathaniel only stared at her, unable to muster a comeback, therefore giving Sir John the opportunity to cut in.

"Excuse me, Miss Ashton, Sheridan," he said, smiling. "Might I intrude?"

"Why, certainly, Sir John," Stella said, smiling sweetly.

"Miss Ashton, I believe the Sir Roger de Coverley is coming up in a while. Shall we towards the dance floor?"

"I don't see why not," Stella answered. "Well, Mr. Sheridan, it was a pleasure speaking with you. I look forward to the next time we might talk again. I'm certain I'll be dying to know things have progressed from now until then."

"Excuse us, then, Sheridan..."

Nathaniel, still processing the quick turn events, could only mutter, "Of course," out of reflex as Stella gave a curtsey and sauntered away, her arm linked with Sir John's. He sighed, scratching his hair, deciding not to let Stella's words get to him. Instead, he set out to to look for Nicola. Surely, Harold Blenkenship had already told Nicola all that he would. After all, a lady should not be left without an escort, as Sir Hugh had said.

He spied Nicola on the other side of the room, one hand being held tightly by her cousin. What on earth was that milksop trying to do now? His pace quickened a bit, but, seeing the firm look on Nicola's face, Nathaniel found that he needn't worry too much. Still, a little reinforcement would surely help.

Upon walking up to them, Nathaniel heard Nicola say, "I won't," with such finality that he found no need to excuse himself into the conversation.

"Nicky," he said, "the Sir Roger's coming up next. Will you have a go at it with me? You promised last week."

Nathaniel curiously took in the scene before him. Harold Blenkenship was looking quite agitated, and Nicola was smiling kindly at the boy. Whatever they were talking about, Nathaniel was somewhat finally convinced that it was indeed important as the Milksop said.

"So," Nathaniel asked lightly as he led Nicola to the dance floor. "He wasn't trying to ask for your hand again, was he?"

"Goodness, no," Nicola laughed. "At least I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" Nathaniel raised an eyebrow as he said, "Nicky, I think those things are usually made clear."

"He wasn't asking me to marry him," Nicola said, her facial expression a bit thoughtful. "He asked me to go to America with him."

Nathaniel's steps nearly stopped in surprise. Surprise of the Milksop's odd (not to mention sudden) invitation, and surprise at how lightly Nicola was taking it. Fortunately, Nathaniel managed to step into position as the dance began.

"America?" he asked. "What's in America?"

"A fresh start, he said," Nicola laughed again. "My cousin designs clothing, as I discovered just now, and he would like to try his luck in the fashion industry with me as his associate. How he came up with that idea was...interesting, to say the least. "

"Why not start his business here?"

"Aside from the fact that his designs won't sell any time soon?" Nicola asked, her own eyebrow rising. "Well, the Grouser surely wouldn't approve Harold's going into the business..."

"And why is he taking you? _That_ was the 'important matter' he wanted to discuss with you?"

"Yes, and about the whole Blutcher business, too. We both know the Grouser is immensely disappointed about my decision about the Abbey, and I daresay I was half-expecting him to try something even though he's said he's had enough. Harold says his father wants to kill me."

"Kill you?" Nathaniel exclaimed, shocked. "Nicky!" Again, he very nearly stopped in the middle of the dance floor, but his unconscious somehow made his body continue dancing.

"Well, maybe not kill me," Nicola said. "Maybe they only intend to frighten me. Harold wasn't particularly sure. He was listening at the keyhole, you see—"

_To hell with the keyhole!_

"We've got to inform the magistrates at once," Nathaniel declared.

"And tell them what, Nat? That my cousin, who has always been something of an alarmist, thinks he heard his father say he intends to kill me?"

Nathaniel frowned. Nicola had a point. Even if they had Harold Blenkenship as a witness, Nathaniel thought it was highly probable that the boy crumble under the pressure of interrogation and just say that he knew nothing. They had no concrete evidence about this, and going to the magistrates empty-handed was not the wisest thing to do.

But still, Nathaniel couldn't simply do nothing until hard evidence came. He had already tried that the last time, and look what happened!

"This is serious, Nicky," he said. "I'm going to speak to my father about it. There must be something—"

"Oh, Nat, don't!" Nicola cried. "Please don't say anything to your father. I don't want everyone in the world to know that Sebastian Bartholomew was only marrying me because his father wanted to put a railway through my family home. It's bad enough that_you_ know it."

Finally, Nathaniel stopped dancing. So what if he knew about it? Did she prefer if Nathaniel wasn't there to help her through this ordeal? And besides, what had happened didn't affect the way Nathaniel thought about Nicola at all. If anything, it only served as a platform upon which he realized what she truly was to him. Good grief, Nicola didn't have the slightest clue how Nathaniel felt for her, did she?

"Nicola," he began...

...only, he didn't have a chance to continue, as Nicola gave a start and stepped backward, causing her to crash into the man behind her. The man who, for some inexplicable phenomenon, had been blessed by an impeccable sense of timing.

"Miss Sparks," the Lord Sebastian said, reaching out to grasp Nicola's hand and keep her from falling when she stumbled. "How fortunate that we should happen to meet like this. I'd been hoping might have a word."

"She's got nothing to say to you, Farnsworth," Nathaniel finally jumped in, attempting to reclaim his position as Nicola's escort. Not that it was actually taken from him by the conceited prick, of course. "Come along, Nicola."

Although Nathaniel, who was presently Nicola's dancing partner — and not to mention escort, host, and _friend _— had taken hold of Nicola's free hand to lead her away from the dance floor, Sebastian Bartholomew, who was presently the rejected fiancé, kept his grip firm.

"I rather think," the viscount said, "that Miss Sparks can decide for herself whether or not she has anything to say to me."

Nathaniel gave another warning glare to the other bachelor, and he could very well hear his own teeth grinding against each other. Blue eyes glared back, and, for a split-second, Nathaniel saw hostility, that which was usually hidden underneath a veil of gentlemanly politeness, flicker across the other man's features. Nicola seemed to have seen this, as well, and perhaps in an attempt to prevent things from getting worse, finally spoke.

"It will be all right," she said to Nathaniel, slipping her fingers from his own. "I'll just be a moment."

Nathaniel very nearly exploded then, and he wanted very much to snatch Nicola back from the viscount and punch the eligible bachelor's nose, just as he had said he would even before the whole mess began. But already Nicola turned away from him and walked away with Bartholomew. Nathaniel had no choice but to leave the dance floor and inconspicuously watch the pair crossing the room and enter one of the nearby antechambers.

That prick better not try anything or else...

"Are you sure you're all right with _this_?" came Sir Hugh's voice again, coming up beside him.

"What, are you keeping track of my time with Nicky now?" Nathaniel asked in an attempt to humor himself out of his angry state. That was what Sir Hugh usually did, anyway, squeezing out the comedy out of any situation just to keep people smiling and happy.

But, when Sir Hugh spoke again, Nathaniel realized that that was not his friend's intention, this time.

"Sheridan," he said, his tone tremendously serious and concerned. "That is the man that is Nicola's former fiancé. The man who, according to you yourself, had taken Nicola for granted. The man who only asked Nicola to marry him just so he could profit from her. That man right there, currently speaking to the love of your life, is the last man on earth that she should be spending time with. And _alone_! Aren't you going to—"

I'm very well aware of all that, Parker," Nathaniel told him. "I already tried what I could to stop it without causing a brawl..."

"But Miss Sparks was the one who decided to go, eh?" Sir Hugh finished the thought. "I suppose she's quite independent that way."

"And reckless and stubborn," Nathaniel added.

"Well, just so you know, we're keeping an eye out for you, too," Sir Hugh said, patting Nathaniel on his shoulder. Despite the friendly gesture, the seriousness in his voice had not lessened.

"We?" Nathaniel asked, finally turning to look at the other man. Instead of answering verbally, however, Sir Hugh jerked his head towards another set of young people a few ways across the room. Sir John nodded back. Behind him, Eleanor and Stella did not stop from their conversation, nor did they give any indication that they noticed the young men's silent exchange, but the way they were standing obviously gave them a clear view of the entrance to the antechamber.

Nathaniel felt the tension on his shoulders lessen, as if the yoke was not anymore solely his own. And, truthfully, perhaps it wasn't.

"Thank you," he said, finding the strength to smile.

"Friends, Sheridan," Sir Hugh said, patting his shoulder again, smiling, this time, "that's what they're for."

Nathaniel nodded, turning his attention back to the antechamber. "I think I should go and check on her."

"Yes, I think you should," Sir Hugh agreed. And then he added, under his breath, "And if Farnsworth need be beaten into a pulp, we'd be very happy oblige."

As he strode towards Nicola's location, Nathaniel steeled himself for a confrontation. After all, judging from the last time he and Bartholomew spoke, it wouldn't be a surprise if things other than words are exchanged.

Nathaniel stopped under the archway. To his relief, Bartholomew hadn't seemed to have tried anything inappropriate. Nicola seemed to be well, and she and the viscount were standing a proper distance away from each other. But still, Bartholomew's time was up.

"Nicky?"

Both Nicola and the viscount looked up at Nathaniel's interruption, each wearing a different expression on their face. While Nicola looked slightly surprised, Bartholomew seemed to have expected Nathaniel's arrival. Without so much as a flinch, he moved to leave the antichamber, saying as he brushed past Nathaniel, "Don't worry. She's all yours."

Nathaniel stepped out of the way, more than glad to let the other man leave. With that done, Nathaniel turned to Nicola to find her eyes to the floor, her cheeks flushed. She had had enough excitement for one night, Nathaniel decided.

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "Let's go home."

Nicola silently nodded, and, almost shyly, slipped her slender hand into Nathaniel's own...

...right where it should be.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Just to clarify here, in case someone might violently react. No, Sir Hugh isn't conceited. And no, Nathaniel doesn't think he's conceited. That was just playful banter between chums. Okay? Okay. 


	15. Chapter 15

_Nicola and the Viscount _is Meg Cabot's. Some of the original events and dialogue are weaved into my original stuff, and they're woven too much into each other so I'll just say that anything you see familiar isn't mine.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN **

Phillip Sheridan, as he had recently developed a habit of reminding everyone, was already ten years old. This age was a very young one, of course, but for Phillip, being ten was like being a man. He was proud of the fact that his age no longer had one digit and he firmly believed that he was no longer a child, so when people looked at him with a face that said, "Oh, what an adorable little boy!" he would huff and declare his ripe age. Even so, it was not to be denied that a ten-year-old was still a child and, despite his vocal denials, Phillip still acted like one.

...Like that day when Lady Sheridan came into the dining room to find it remodelled. No longer was the bright room a venue for fine, cozy dining; instead, the sturdy chairs were arranged in a strange fashion, and large pieces of cloth were draped over the furniture and walls, turning the room into something that Lady Sheridan could not determine.

"Oh my—!" the Lady exclaimed, gasping. She was so shocked with the sight of the room that she failed to notice how the chairs stood in a very straight line, and that the pieces of linen were placed strategically, and that everything was so neatly done that it could not have been the work of a ten-year-old.

"Phillip Sheridan, you will come out this instant!!!"

At his mother's reprimanding voice, Phillip stood in attention from behind the table, his brown eyes wide.

"Mama!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Come, look! Isn't our fortress just excellent? We took a while planning it out, and I think it turned out—"

"Excellent?" the Lady Sheridan echoed in horror. "Phillip, you used my best tablecloths!"

"Erm... Only the best tablecloths to make the best fortress..?" the boy tried hesitantly, finally registering the fact that his mother was nowhere near impressed.

"That is no reason to— Nathaniel?!" the Lady Sheridan gasped again when her eldest son, wise, responsible Nathaniel, came sauntering out of the fortress, his sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone and his hair slightly tousled while remaining somewhat neat. Needless to say, a familiar lock of hair had fallen over his eyes.

"So sorry I took so long coming out, Mother," he said smiling, "but the knot under the table won't stay."

"Nathaniel, what are you doing, encouraging your brother?"

"I am here to ensure that Phillip will take good care of your favorite tablecloths. Isn't that right, Phil?"

"Yes, Mama, we haven't torn or soiled anything; see for yourself!"

"Good heavens," the Lady Sheridan breathed, her eyes heavenward. Truly, her two sons were quite handful. But if Nathaniel was using this playful activity to bond with his younger brother so that he could later teach the boy the more significant ways of a gentleman, then far be it from the Lady Sheridan to stop them.

"If I may, Lady Sheridan," Nicola's laughing voice came, making all three Sheridans turn to her, "I would like to offer my assistance."

"Yes, what is it, dear?"

"I made a mistake of purchasing cloth from Grafton House the other day, you see," she said. "It was a rather dull shade of brown, I can't imagine why I bought it in the first place. Also, I'm sure I still have some scrap cloth left over from my last project. Perhaps young Phillip would like to use those as a fortification for his fortress."

"Really, Nicky?" Phillip asked excitedly.

"Oh, but we're going to have to restructure it," she told him. "The chairs would have to serve as the walls, instead. But that would only make the fortress more sturdy, wouldn't it?"

Instead of answering Nicola, Phillip looked up at Nathaniel, seeking his fellow engineer's approval.

"Well, I don't see why not," Nathaniel shrugged. "If it's all right with Mother for us to still use the dining room."

"So long as you boys don't break anything," the Lady Sheridan answered, a smile attempting to creep into her features even as she tried to remain firm.

As Phillip gave a whoop of "Thank you, Mama!" and jumped to hug his mother, Nicola excused herself to get the fabric from her room. Phillip ran after her saying that he'll carry the 'construction materials' for her.

"Well, Nathaniel," the Lady Sheridan began. "Be sure to thank Nicola appropriately for her offer."

"Of course, Mother."

"And be sure not to do anything inappropriate, either."

When Nathaniel only blinked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, the mistress of the house raised an eyebrow at her son knowingly.

"Don't give me that look; I was young once, too, you know. I know what young men are tempted to do when alone with the ladies they are in love with."

At that, Nathaniel's jaw dropped, and he felt himself pale — or perhaps redden; Nathaniel wasn't sure — considerably. Nathaniel also wasn't sure if his shock was because of his mother's implication, or if it was because of the idea that his mother knew about his feelings for their house guest.

Well, Sir Hugh had noticed it quite early on, and as did Eleanor. Stella seemed to be egging Nathaniel on into going ahead and courting Nicola, and Sir John obviously knew about Nathaniel's feelings, too, if his support the previous Wednesday at Almack's had been any indication. Even Sebastian Bartholomew picked up on it, it seemed, unless his words had only been thrown as a jest.

_Am I that obvious?_

"Yes, you've been obvious," Lady Sheridan said suddenly, a playful spark in her eyes. "Your actions have been quite candid. And remember that I am your mother, I dare say no one knows you as I do."

"Apparently so," Nathaniel finally said, shaking his head. "At least I don't have to spend time trying to think how of how I'm going to tell you."

Phillip reappeared then, carrying an armful of fabric.

"Nicky says she'll bring a few more in a minute," he said.

"Very well," Lady Sheridan said, nodding. "Don't stay up too late. And please fold the tablecloths properly."

Thus, the two Sheridan boys set to work. The fortress walls were the easiest to dismantle, as they were only draped on the furniture and were not very secure. The tricky part, however, was what was inside the fortress. It had taken Nathaniel a while to secure the knot under the table, and he was sure it wouldn't be so easy letting it loose.

Oh, he should have left it as it was when his mother arrived!

He had been so focused on his efforts of untying the knot that Nathaniel didn't notice at once that Phillip had been silent for the last minute or so. Nathaniel would have wondered if Phillip had grown impatient and left him, if it weren't for the boy's legs swinging by the edge of the table.

"You all right up there, Phil?" he asked.

"'M fine..."

A pause.

"Nat?" Phillip spoke up again.

"Yeah?" came Nathaniel's distracted answer.

"I was wondering...Are you going to to marry Nicky?"

"What?!— **OW!!!**"

Nathaniel winced, nursing his stinging forehead as he laid down on the carpeted floor again.

Ah, yes. Mahogany truly was a remarkably hard piece of wood.

Taking a second to look around and make sure that he and his brother didn't have an audience, Nathaniel sat up carefully and studied his brother. The boy remained sitting on the table under which Nathaniel hit his head, his brown eyes were blinking down at him curiously.

"What?" Nathaniel asked, just to make sure he heard right.

"Are you going to marry Nicky?" Phillip repeated generously.

"Did Eleanor tell you that?"

"No."

"Sir Hugh?"

"No."

"...Who did, then?"

Phillip shrugged swinging his feet again. "I just figured it myself."

Nathaniel fought the urge to roll his eyes. Good grief, even his little brother caught on.

Nathaniel was _truly_ obvious, wasn't he?

"You did, huh?" he asked, standing up to lean on the table. "Aren't you a little too young to be thinking of things like that?"

"I'm ten!" Phillip said indignantly.

"Ah, quite right. My apologies, sir."

"You look like Papa," Phillip said, "only younger."

Nathaniel blinked, raising an eyebrow at the boy sitting beside him.

"Of course I do. He's my father, after all." he said. "You look like him, too, you know."

"I don't mean your face," Phillip said, rolling his eyes. At that moment, Nathaniel felt as if his stature as his brother's role model lowered a tiny bit. "I meant... When you look at Nicky, or when you talk to her, or even when you fight with her... You look like Papa when he looks at Mama."

As amazed as Nathaniel was at how observant Phillip was, the only thing he could say in response to his younger brother was a very intelligent "Ah." Really, what _could_ you say to a ten-year-old who was asking about your wedding plans?

"So are you?" Phillip insisted asking.

"I don't really know, Phil," Nathaniel answered after a few beats. "It depends if Nicky agrees to it."

"Hm," Phillip said, looking thoughtful. "Well, _I_ like Nicky, and I hope you two get married." He paused for a moment before scrunching his nose and saying, "Eleanor would be a much better sister-in-law for her than that Miss Bartholomew. She looks like a horse."

"_Phillip!_" Nathaniel scolded. He was unable to keep a laugh, however, from escaping his lips.

"Enjoying yourselves, boys?"

Both Phillip and Nathaniel turned around to see Nicola standing at the doorway, one arm akimbo and another carrying a small pile of more neatly folded fabric. As Phillip jumped down the table to relieve her of her burden, Nathaniel took in how equally pretty she looked wearing her house robe and loosely braided hair as she did in a gown, upswept hair and powdered face on a glittering night at Almack's.

"Nat, might I have a go at that knot you've been working on? You're taking forever with it."

"Oh, please be my guest," Nathaniel said, eyebrow raised at his brother. "I apologize for taking so long."

"A knot?" Nicola echoed, bending down to pick up a discarded tablecloth. In the process, she tried to peek under the table where Phillip was presently working. "A knot had conquered you, Mr. Sheridan?"

"Aye, it did, Miss Sparks," Nathaniel said, taking another tablecloth strewn on the floor. "It seems that I'm too skilled in tying knots that even I couldn't untie them."

"Does it explain the redness of your forehead?"

"Why, yes, I'm so glad you noticed."

Although that wasn't exactly the truth, it wasn't a lie, either. If he hadn't been lying under the table because of that knot, then he wouldn't have hit his head at Phillip's inquiries.

"You should put something cold on that," said Nicola laughing as she put the folded cloth on the table and busied herself another one.

"Bah, I'll live."

Nathaniel put his own folded tablecloth away, and went to pick up the other end of the large tablecloth Nicola was struggling with.

"Nicky," he began, clearing his throat. "Thank you for offering your fabric."

"Think nothing of it," Nicola said dismissively as they folded their respective ends of the cloth. "Building a fortress out of the dining room seemed fun, so I thought I'd try my hand in it."

That made Nathaniel pause from what he was doing. "You're going to build it with us?"

"Why not? Do you think I'm not able?"

"No. I mean— It's not that..."

"What is it, then?"

Nathaniel hesitated. What could he say? Would he say that it wasn't something he expected from a lady? Would he say that she had been bothered enough, and that she should retire for bed? Or would he say the truth, that it surprised him that she would volunteer to spend time with him? She was spending time with Phillip, too, of course, but...

Apparently having had enough silence, Nicola stepped forward, securing her end of the fabric with Nathaniel's, folding the tablecloth as she did so.

"I'm an orphan, Nat," Nicola said, smiling as she looked up at him. "As much as Beckwell Abbey is my home, I also love this place. Not because it's close to the glitz of London society, but because of the people here. Not only do I get a sister, but also experience having a younger brother to assist, parents to order me about, and—"

"Nat," called Phillip, making Nicola jump slightly. The boy kneeling by the large table was weilding the last piece of unfolded cloth in his hand as he said, "I got the knot undone! Let's start putting up the new walls now!"

"We'll be right there," Nicola promptly replied. And then, throwing a last glance at Nathaniel, Nicola went to join Phillip, giving her own suggestions on how to build the walls.

The corners of Nathaniel's lips slowly curved up in a smile. He knew, of course, that Nicola was fond of the Sheridans, and he had always suspected that it had to do with her wanting to be part of a family. But hearing her say it out loud, plus the fact that she was, in a way, sharing something in her heart with him, filled Nathaniel with a light and easy feeling.

Nathaniel was just about to put the last tablecloth away — he had almost forgotten that he was still holding it — when suddenly he realized that there was something missing in Nicola's last statement.

If Eleanor was Nicola's 'sister', the Lord and Lady Sheridan were her surrogate parents, and Phillip was like her brother, then...

What about Nathaniel?

* * *

**From the Author:** Gaaaaaah this chapter took forever! I'm not entirely happy with this still, but I think I already took long enough.

When I was planning for this chapter, I was at a loss about how I was going to write it, AND the next two chapters without being immensely dragging, especially since the events which happen in and after Chapter 15 are really focused on Nicola. So after much planning, thinking, days of writer's block, and writing and rewriting... Voila! I ended up writing a chapter that's (again) not found in the book, save for Nicola's reference to Nathaniel helping Philip with the dining room fortress.

And, come on, I think Phillip needed more page time. I think I made him wee bit too childish in te earlier chapters, constantly hopping about. No matter how much his behavior makes him endearing, he IS ten years old and not six. And he needed more dialogue with Nicola, too. I think I can recall only one conversation he had with Nicola in the whole book... Granted that Nicola stayed at the Sheridan's it'd be impossible that they didn't interact.

I wasn't sure what Phillip called Nicola. I think it'd be more logical that he called her Miss Sparks, but since he seems to follow whatever Nathaniel does, and he doesn't seem to try to act polite in front of her, I thought it'd be more fitting if he called her Nicky, too.

And, yes, even though I originally intended this to be somewhat a Phillip-centric chapter, and focus on his relationship with Nathaniel as a brother, I couldn't help but slide back into a bit of Nat Nicky. Heehee.

Aaaaaaaaaaanyway. Sorry for the long wait, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: **_Nicola and the Viscount _is Meg Cabot's. Some of the original events and dialogue are weaved into my original stuff, and they're woven too much into each other so I'll just say that anything you see familiar isn't mine.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN **

The words were there, right there in front of his eyes, but Nathaniel Sheridan could not, for the life of him, make sense out of them. True, he understood them quite perfectly as his gaze ran through the black printed letters that he was so accustomed to reading every day, and yet right after his mind registered the words, he simply couldn't recall what he just read.

Such was how it was for a distracted mind.

Nathaniel turned the page, partly in hopes that he would understand the next article of news better, partly in order to appear as if he was actually reading the paper. From the corner of his eye he saw Nicola deep in thought, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. Her sapphire eyes were focused on the cursive ink marks made by her slender hands and her quill, and her pink lips were absently mouthing what she wrote. Never before had Nathaniel anyone look so graceful just by writing.

When Nicola straightened up to look her letter over, Nathaniel turned back to his newspaper in new attempt to read. The said attempt, however, was a failure as Nathaniel's senses were even more sensitive to Nicola's movements.

Nicola looked like she was finished with her letter.

Nathaniel, then, must make his move.

Nathaniel would lower his newspaper and fold it casually as if he just finished reading, right at that predestined moment — Nicola was simply the type who loved to hear about romantic things like destined moments — just as Nicola had finished her letter. And then his gaze would accidentally — yes, _accidentally_ — fall on Nicola and he would suggest, still casually, "Say, Nicky, how about we go riding today?" And then she would, folding her letter gracefully, smile and say, "Why, thank you, Nat, that's a pleasant idea."

Nathaniel nodded to himself. His execution would be just right: comfortable but not too brotherly, and might possibly give Nicola a hint about his intentions. His plan was perfect — well, of course it was perfect, he had been thinking about it all night — and today was the day he would carry it out. Setting his plan in motion, Nathaniel lowered his paper, turned to Nicola...

...and found her sapphire eyes looking straight at him.

Nathaniel froze.

It was something he had not considered happening, that Nicola would be, for one strange reason or another, be looking at him, and quite thoughtfully, as if she had been gazing at him for quite a while now. Suddenly, Nathaniel didn't know what to do, and what he said next was something he instinctively pulled out of nowhere.

"Have I grown horns of a sudden, Miss Sparks?"

"No," she said, turning back to her work.

"Horns," Phillip chuckled from where he sat playing with the dogs. "I should like to see _that_."

"Nathaniel," Lady Sheridan warned without looking up from her own letter. "Leave Nicola alone."

"Gladly."

And, quite honestly, Nathaniel was glad that that awkward moment was over. To further mask his somewhat panicked state, Nathaniel turned the page of his newspaper, never mind that he was not actually reading it.

Ah, well, he would have to carry out his plan when Nicola was truly finished with her letter.

It was at that moment that Winters, the Sheridans' butler, entered the room with a letter on a silver salver.

"This just arrived for Miss Sparks, madam."

This was the first time Nicola received a letter by special delivery, so it was only natural that she looked surprised at Winters' announcement. Nicola tore the letter open and read, her surprise quickly shifting to curiosity, amusement and, finally, excitement.

"I hope it isn't bad news, Nicky," Eleanor said worriedly from the chair in which she sat reading.

"You can tell by her face that it isn't," Nathaniel observed. "She looks like a cat that's got into the creamery."

"Oh, it's from Stella Ashton," she said as she folded the letter and rose from her seat. "She's in fits over what to wear over the theater tonight. She wants me to come to her house and help her decide."

"Well, that's hardly surprising," Eleanor said, nodding. "After all, if it wasn't for you, she'd still be wearing that dreadful yellow."

As Eleanor was clearly at ease with the contents of the letter, it was Nathaniel's turn to be worried.

"You aren't actually going, are you?" he asked. How was he going to ask her to go riding if she wasn't there?

"Of course I am. She quite needs me."

"To help her get _dressed_?"

"Of course not," Nicola said scornfully. "She has a maid for that. She needs me to help her decide what to put on in the first place."

Nathaniel frowned, quite irritated that his well-prepared plans were ruined. And for what? For Nicola to help Stella select a dress! At least she wasn't leaving for Sebastian Bartholomew, but still...

Women! He would never understand them.

These were his thoughts as he stepped out of the room, and he heard his mother allow Nicola to go and meet her friend, under the condition that she return in time for luncheon.

If it had been just a normal day, and if Nathaniel had only normal plans, then perhaps he would have shrugged off its postponement with no problem. But the truth was Nathaniel was not looking forward to just an ordinary morning on horseback.

He was going to propose to her.

They would enjoy the morning and if all went well, Nathaniel would very, very casually bring up Sebastian Bartholomew. This was, undoubtedly, the most trying part of the afternoon, but Nathaniel had to do it: he had to know if Nicola had truly recovered from that ordeal. If she wasn't, then Nathaniel would simply nod, and wait. However, if her response implied that she no longer had feelings for the annoying git, then Nathaniel would bare his heart and finally propose marriage to her. If God was willing, Nicola would accept, and Nathaniel would seal it with a kiss to her sweet lips as he drowned in her lavender scent.

It was all a bit poetic, but since it was the kind of scene that would most likely fit into Nicola's preferences, Nathaniel would not mind it at all. He would not be saying any rubbish about wanting to be a glove, after all, and, surely, a confession of love by the lakeside was much more fitting for Nicola than a marriage proposal in a phaeton out in Park Lane (and right after she had been rescued by another gentleman, too).

"You were planning on doing something with Nicky today, weren't you?"

Nathaniel tore his hazel gaze from the ceiling and turned to the doorway where Eleanor stood leaning on the frame.

"And you complain that _I_ don't knock," he said, rolling over in his bed so that his back was turned to his sister.

"You know, it's certainly not Stella's fault that you didn't have the spine to ask Nicky before she did."

"Eleanor, you are not helping."

Eleanor giggled as she sat down at the foot of Nathaniel's bed. "You'll have to forgive me, dear brother, but you're just too fun to poke at sometimes. Perhaps you can call it payback... After all, I don't have the skills you have when it comes to teasing, so I make the most of every rare opportunity I get to irritate you."

"You always irritate me."

"I love you, too."

Nathaniel only grunted in response at first. But then, after a few beats, he sat up frowning as Eleanor's words made him realize something.

"Eleanor... You don't think Nicky's still in love with Sebastian Bartholomew, do you?"

Eleanor blinked, her eyebrows furrowing. "What?"

"It just made me think: what if Nicky truly still loves him even though she's avoiding him? It's always said that people don't realize how much things matter to them until they've lost it... What if Nicky's apparent dislike for Bartholomew is just so he would chase after her in some incredibly poetic way?"

"Sebastian Bartholomew has passionately come after her, sent her a hundred bouquets of roses, waited for her nearly every day when she won't see him, and actually talked to her in the midst of scrutinizing eyes at Almack's... I should think that's enough chasing, don't you? And still Nicky refused him."

"What did they talk about in Almack's, anyway?"

"I don't really know. Does it matter?"

"Maybe she's just waiting for him to come up with another adjective to describe her aside from _jolly_."

"Nathaniel!" Eleanor exclaimed, laughing as she stood up. "Will you please stop basing your actions on what Sebastian Bartholomew does? You're a _much_ better man than he! Goodness, the last time I checked, you didn't care what he does or thinks..."

"I don't," Nathaniel said. "I care about what Nicky thinks, though. She's just recovered from a broken engagement; I don't want to complicate things even further by rushing her into things. You're her bosom friend, and my being your brother would just make things more complicated."

At this, Eleanor sighed, sitting back down on the bed and taking Nathaniel's hands.

"Nat," she said. "You said it yourself: Nicky is my friend. Don't you think I would know that she's spirited enough to speak her mind? And besides, you can only second guess people up to a certain point... There comes a time when we should just take action and see what happens."

There was silence for a moment, and at the back of his mind, Nathaniel recognized Eleanor's words mirrored his own when she had been worried about Sir Hugh. Ah, so Eleanor really did listen to him, didn't she? Slowly, the corners of Nathaniel's lips lifted, along with one dark eyebrow that was hidden behind a lock of brown hair.

"Who are you and what have you done with my silly baby sister?"

Eleanor gave Nathaniel's hand a playful slap, but not before a delightful laugh escaped her lips.

"She's still in here, don't worry. I'm just taking over until my responsible, sensible brother resurfaces."

Nathaniel laughed himself, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to stand up.

"It's a nice day for riding, don't you think?" He held out his hand in invitation. "Let's see if Phil wants to come with us."

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, but took his hand nonetheless.

"You were planning on taking Nicky out riding, weren't you?"

"Hush."

And so, even though Nathaniel was not able to go riding with Nicola, he was able to spend a pleasant morning with his siblings. Between the bright morning, Phillip's energy and Eleanor's laughter, the riddle of whether or not Nicola still loved the Viscount Farnsworth was far from Nathaniel's mind.

It never occurred to Nathaniel that that enjoyable morning could have been the calm before the storm...

* * *

**From the Author:** Wow, it's been a while since I last wrote a whole chapter in one sitting. This is relatively short, but I couldn't think of anything to add. I think it's okay as it is; I hope you guys agree. Hehe. 


	17. Chapter 17

**DISCLAIMER: **_Nicola and the Viscount_ is owned by Meg Cabot. Story? Not mine. Characters? No such luck, either.

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

Nicola was late.

Nathaniel's initial reaction upon learning that Nicola had yet to be home was that of slight disappointment. It was as if Nicola had somehow sensed that Nathaniel's mind was far from her as he had fun with his siblings for the last few hours, and so she returned to his thoughts with a vengeance, reminding him that it was she with whom Nathaniel had wanted to go riding with.

Disappointment turned into impatience as Eleanor reminded Nathaniel that Nicola was, in fact, helping Stella in choosing what to wear. That was obviously no easy task as the judgement of two women was required.

Impatience later shifted to bewliderment. Yes, Nathaniel finally understood — through the combined efforts of Eleanor and Lady Sheridan — that deciding on final clothes for an evening took time. However, he had yet to comprehend why it was taking Nicola tremendously long.

Bewilderment soon became suspicion. Nathaniel had often marveled at how women could turn anything into a social activity, and he was slowly leaning toward the belief that Stella and Nicola simply could not be talking solely about clothes. Could it be that Stella was exercising her matchmaking skills right at that very moment?

Suspicion was replaced by annoyance when luncheon arrived. It was not at all like Nicola not to keep her word. And if, by any chance, Stella had invited her to stay for the meal, it was only polite for Nicola to notify her hosts of her absence.

Annoyance ebbed away to accommodate worry by the time luncheon ended. This wasn't like her. Not like her at all. After much thought and considering the consequences, Nathaniel convinced Eleanor to write a note to Stella asking her if everything was all right. Eleanor had readily agreed to sending a note; what she had to be convinced of was for her not to write how worried Nathaniel actually was. Whereas Nathaniel had thought it unnecessary, Eleanor believed it would bring Nicola home faster.

Worry grew into something almost akin to fear when Sir Hugh arrived for afternoon tea, and still Nicola had yet to return.

"Nathaniel, do come and have tea with us," Eleanor implored. "I'm sure Nicky will be back soon."

Nathaniel tore his gaze from the window to raise an eyebrow at his sister. "You said that hours ago."

"'Soon' is sooner now than it was hours ago, though, isn't it?" Sir Hugh, sipping his tea.

Nathaniel completely ignored his friend's comment, choosing instead to look out the window again. He had long given up trying to keep himself calm; staring at nothing outside the house made it easier for him to _look_ it even if he wasn't.

"If she isn't at the Ashton's, then we'd have word," Eleanor reasoned in another attempt for a conversation. "Isn't that right, Hugh?"

"Quite right."

"But if she _is_ at the Ashton's," Nathaniel countered, "then wouldn't we have word as well?"

"Ah, that's quite right also."

Eleanor shot Sir Hugh a look, her hazel eyes narrowing at him ever so slightly. Sir Hugh simply smiled at her in response before turning to Nathaniel.

"Since you can't seem to sit still, Sheridan–" At this Nathaniel wanted to say, 'I _am _sitting still!' "–what say you if we go to the Ashtons ourselves to check if Miss Sparks is indeed alive and well?"

A pause.

"Parker, that is the best thing you've said this afternoon."

"Why, thank you."

"Coming, Eleanor?"

"I think I best stay here," Eleanor answered, "in case Nicky arrives before you do."

Nathaniel nodded, already making his way to the doors. He grabbed the handles, prepared to throw them open and speedily exit the house when, at the most perfect moment, the doors flew open by themselves, most inconveniently hitting Nathaniel's forehead and making him yelp and stagger backwards.

"Oh!" exclaimed a familiar voice, still sounding very much like a lady despite her surprise. "Oh my goodness! Are you all right?"

"Not to worry; he'll live. His head's hard enough to survive that, methinks."

Nathaniel glared up at his friend through his fingers nursing his stinging forehead. Sir Hugh, as he always did, only smiled and helped him to his feet. Nathaniel inwardly sighed. Why was it that recently his forehead seemed to attract furniture in the most painful ways?

"Miss Ashton," he said, smiling through a wince.

"Mr. Sheridan," Stella replied apologetically, greeting him properly with a curtsey. "Miss Sheridan, Mr. Parker."

"Please have a seat, Miss Ashton," Eleanor graciously offered.

Stella quickly accepted, and, before anybody can break into curteous small talk she said, "I'm sorry for barging in like this, but I feel that a matter at hand requires some urgency." She paused to hold up a piece of paper, which the two Sheridans recognized at once to be Eleanor's note. "Did I understand correctly that Miss Sparks left this morning saying that she was to help me select a dress, in reply to my request?"

"Yes, that's what she said," Eleanor answered. "Did she not come?"

"I never sent for her in the first place, Miss Sheridan," Stella told them, making Nathaniel blink in confusion.

"You didn't? What did you say in your note, then?"

"Mr. Sheridan," Stella carefully said with patience that barely masked her own worry, "I didn't send her a note. If Miss Sparks received a letter today, it wasn't from me."

A myriad of emotions washed over Nathaniel – anger, worry, frustration – all fighting for dominance. Strangely enough, exhaustion was the one that broke through as his straight posture fell. Disregarding all protocol of behaving in the presence of a guest, especially one that is a lady, Nathaniel emitted a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a growl, raking his fingers through his hair and exclaiming, "That _**girl**_!!!"

"But...but..." Eleanor stammered. "Oh, Hugh, what if someone had written the note pretending to be Miss Ashton? Nicky wouldn't lie!"

_This wouldn't be the first time._

Nathaniel didn't really want to think about it, but he clearly remembered the last time Nicola had so bluntly lied to them. It had been at the park; she had chosen the company of Sebastian Bartholomew over that of her long-time friends. Would be such a surprise if Nicola lied her way out of the house to meet the viscount, knowing that the Sheridans would not be happy about her rendezvous? True, Eleanor had said that Nicola didn't anymore feel that way about Bartholomew; but the last time Nathaniel checked, Eleanor had to jolt Nicola out of staring at her former fiancé.

_Wait. What am I doing?!_

Inwardly, Nathaniel kicked himself. Yes, he was feeling tremendously jealous and insecure at the moment, but that shouldn't stop him from focusing on the matter at hand. For all they knew, Eleanor could be right that Nicola had been tricked. Nathaniel shouldn't be irrational right now; he could do that later. (Or never, if possible.)

Feeling a pair of eyes at him, Nathaniel glanced up to find Sir Hugh looking at him from his seat across the table. The other gentleman raised a patient eyebrow at him, but, possibly sensing his friend's current inability to think straight, he cleared his throat meaningfully, making the ladies turn to him.

"All right," Sir Hugh spoke up, his firm hand taking hold of Eleanor's fidgeting ones. "Let's all take a moment to take a deep breath, and tackle this situation with utmost care."

Beside him, Eleanor closed her eyes and took a deep breath, following her fiancé's lead. Sir Hugh continued.

"I think we must take the worst case scenario into consideration: that Miss Sparks had indeed been kidnapped. Although it is possible that she did fib about her destination— and I'm sure she'd have a perfectly good reason for it, love. We might have had nothing to worry about at all, but it would be best to be sure. The trick now is how to search for her in the most efficient way."

"We can solicit the help of the Bow Street Runners," Nathaniel said.

"Father will be home in a while," Eleanor piped in.

"How about Miss Sparks' relatives?" Stella inquired. "Isn't her uncle a baron?"

"He's not her uncle," Nathaniel put in reflexively.

"And I doubt Lord Renshaw would want to help," Eleanor said, frowning. "He'd always treated Nicky like an unwanted burden, and always pressuring her about selling Beckwell Abbey."

Lord Renshaw. Beckwell Abbey. Nathaniel froze, suddenly remembering something Nicola had said not so long ago.

"_...I daresay I was half-expecting him to try something even though he's said he's had enough. Harold says his father wants to kill me."_

She had said it so casually, as if she was describing the weather, that it had stuck out to Nathaniel. At least it did at the time. Nathaniel couldn't believe he had forgotten all about it. Ah, it was that Sebastian Bartholomew's fault for making a move on Nicola and therefore distracting Nathaniel!

"Sheridan?"

Nathaniel turned to Sir Hugh, his hazel eyes filled with worry now more than ever.

"I think it's about time we got going," he said, standing up. "Eleanor, wait for Father and inform him of the developments. Miss Ashton, if you would be so kind as to send a letter to Sir John. Sir Hugh and I will go ahead to contact the Runners."

Without waiting for a reply, Nathaniel quickly strode out of the room, Sir Hugh immediately behind him.

"You're not thinking that the Grouser would kidnap Miss Sparks for a piece of land, are you?" Sir Hugh asked once they were out in the hallways.

Nathaniel hesitated. Sir Hugh was his best friend and on other circumstances Nathaniel would have gladly shared all gathered information with him. But since Nicola had specifically asked him not to tell anyone about certain details about the Blutcher business, Nathaniel had to pick his words carefully.

"I can't be sure," he answered instead.

And, really, he wasn't entirely sure. Oh, what Nathaniel would give to get his hands on Harold Blenkenship so he could wring answers out of the boy!

It was as Nathaniel was thinking this when the sound of a panicked voice filled the air.

"Lord Sheridan!" exclaimed the voice, telling Nathaniel that his father had arrived home. "I must speak with you, Sir!"

"Calm down, lad!" the Lord Sheridan said in a firm but accomodating tone. "Whatever is the matter?"

"I have important news! A very important matter I must discuss with you, Sir!"

"Well, come to the study, then, and—"

"There's no time! There's no time, we must—!!!"

The tirade of frantic exclamations came to an abrupt stop when beady eyes saw Nathaniel. And Nathaniel, recognizing those beady eyes and pale face, raised an eyebrow.

_Well, what do you know._

There, standing in the Sheridans' doorway and dressed in another horrendous ensemble that was undeniably – and tragically – his own creation, was the Milksop, Mr. Harold Blenkenship.

* * *

**From the Author:** Here's a huge "THANK YOU!!!!" to my reviewers! Your support is what made this chapter come out faster than usual. Yeyyyyyy 


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **_Nicola and the Viscount_ is Meg Cabot's, not mine. Characters aren't mine, either, although I like playing and frolicking with them during the scenes that the book didn't cover.

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN **

For about four seconds there was silence; both Sir Hugh and the Lord Sheridan looked from Nathaniel to Harold Blenkenship and back. Nathaniel remained stone-faced; as for Harold, he looked so close to bursting, no one would have been surprised if he did. Winters, who seemed to be used to exciting goings-on since Miss Nicola Sparks had arrived in the Sheridan household, simply excused himself with a small bow and left.

Harold gulped audibly.

"Er..." he croaked out. "Perhaps we _should_ retreat to the study, sir..."

"I thought you said there wasn't time?" Nathaniel asked curiously before clearing his throat and saying, "Please excuse my interference, Father," while Harold exclaimed an unintelligible "Yes– I mean no! I mean–!"

"Excused," the Lord Sheridan answered his son. "Mr. Blenkenship," he said, "if you would be so kind as to enlighten us regarding this very important matter you speak of?"

Harold threw another nervous glance at Nathaniel before squaring his shoulders – or trying to, anyway – and saying in a tone that probably should have been a firm one, "Only if you can guarantee that I shall not be hurt."

"I beg your pardon?" Lord Sheridan inquired, his voice increasing in volume ever so slightly.

The pale boy jumped, taking a step backwards and promptly bursting into apologies of how he hadn't meant it to sound disrespectful, especially to the master of the house. Nathaniel nearly threw his hands up in exasperation. Good Lord, did the boy truly not have a backbone?

"This is about Miss Sparks, isn't it?" Nathaniel cut in to steer the conversation into what he hoped to be the right direction.

"What about Miss Sparks?" the Lord Sheridan wanted to know.

Nathaniel gave Harold a pointed look, giving him the chance to speak. And speak, he did.

"Miss Sparks..." he began in a small voice that slowly became more confident, "Miss Sparks had sent me to tell you, Lord Sheridan, that she had been kidnapped."

A pause.

"Kidnapped," Lord Sheridan echoed. Nathaniel's eyebrows furrowed, more because of his father's strange tone than of Harold's declaration.

"Yes, sir."

"Miss Sparks had been kidnapped."

"Yes, sir."

"And she _sent_ you to tell me this."

"Yes, sir."

"Am I correct in deducing, then, that she spoke with you whilst in the custody of her captors?"

"Yes, sir."

"And is she still in the custody of her captors?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm assuming you also intend to tell us where she is being held?" When Harold faltered, his eyes glancing at Nathaniel again, Lord Sheridan continued to say, "I guarantee that you will not be physically hurt while you are in my household, Mr. Blenkenship, so I pray you quickly tell us everything you ought to, else I will personally see to it that you do."

As polite as the Lord Sheridan's words were, the implication was made so clear that no one could have missed it, not even Harold Blenkenship. Despite the gravity of the situation and the worry that was currently eating at his insides, Nathaniel couldn't hold back a smirk. His father's power of persuasion truly was impressive.

"She is being held in a building on the docks called the Gilded Rose..."

Nathaniel didn't hear the second half of the Milksop's sentence; he was too busy calculating which route would be the fastest to take. That calculation, however, was cut short when the Lord Sheridan asked Sir Hugh to fetch the Bow Street Runners. Sir Hugh obeyed right away and Nathaniel was about to follow him out the door, except that Lord Sheridan held him back and told him to wait. Wait, he had said. _Wait_! For what? Nathaniel had done nothing _but _wait for the last six hours!

"We have more things to straighten out," Lord Sheridan declared when Nathaniel opened his mouth to protest. "We have no warrant of arrest, nothing to go by if we burst in there at once."

"We have _him_!"

The Lord Sheridan said nothing at that, choosing instead to pin his son with a stern look as a response. Nathaniel crossed his arms, his hazel eyes giving his own stern look to the still present Harold Blenkenship.

"Good lad," Lord Sheridan said, patting Nathaniel. "You were saying, Mr. Blenkenship?"

"Ah, yes. Er..." Harold cleared his throat and, as if wanting the ordeal to end as soon as humanly possible, launched into a hurried – and surprisingly organized – narration of what had actually happened.

Harold began with Stockton and Darlington, a company in the coal business. The company wanted to build a locomotive, the Blutcher, to effeciently take coal from Killington Colliery to Stockton, so they bought the lands across which the railroad will pass through. One of those lands was Beckwell Abbey. However, since Nicola didn't agree to selling it no matter how much Lord Renshaw tried to convince her, other measures had to be taken.

"And so they kidnapped her." Nathaniel concluded.

"Yes– Well, no. Not quite yet," Harold told him. "Miss Sparks was attached to the Abbey because it was her inheritance from her family, and so they tried to give her something to replace that. Something that she had wanted for quite some time now..."

"Sebastian Bartholomew," Nathaniel muttered through gritted teeth.

Harold nodded. "Lord Farrelly is a partner to Stockton and Darlington, and he's one who could have some connection to Miss Sparks. By having the Bartholomews as family, he had hoped that Miss Sparks would let go of Beckwell Abbey. Lord Sebastian agreed to his father's plan, and all seemed to be going according to Lord Farrelly's expectations until... Well, it seemed that Miss Sparks somehow got wind of all this and broke her engagement with Lord Sebastian. Lord Sebastian tried to win her back, but when that didn't work, they came up with a plan. They lured her out of this house with a note supposedly from Sir Hugh Parker, asking her to secretly come to Grafton House to help him select a surprise gift for Miss Sheridan..."

Harold trailed off and, like a flower wilting under the dry sun, he lost the confident and knowledgeable air that had enveloped him for the last three minutes. Harold Blenkenship, the pale, panicked Milksop returned.

"I tried to tell her!" he exclaimed. "I tried to warn her and I told her that she could go away to America but she wouldn't listen!"

The Lord Sheridan nodded and finally broke his silence.

"I thank you for that explanation, Mr. Blenkenship. It was enlightening." He stood up to call the butler. "Winters, please show Mr. Blenkenship to the guest room, and make sure he doesn't get out."

"Consider it done, sire."  
"But, sir–!"

"I require your cooperation, Mr. Blenkenship," Lord Sheridan said. "Unless you prefer the prison over our facilities?"

"Er... No, sir."

"I didn't think so."

Lord Sheridan turned towards Nathaniel, but instead of addressing his son, he gently spoke to the one standing behind him.

"Eleanor," he said, making Nathaniel whirl around, "I know you're very worried, but you shall have to stay here. All right?"

"Yes, Papa."

"I'll stay with her for the time being," Stella offered.

Nathaniel nodded to Stella gratefully before turning to his sister. Eleanor was now the picture of worry, and Nathaniel briefly wondered if that was what he looked like earlier that day, or even right at that very moment. The difference, however was that look of guilt that was so clearly written all over Eleanor's features. Perhaps she was thinking that she should not have discouraged Nathaniel from taking action earlier that afternoon.

"Ellie," Nathaniel began, his voice firm with resolution. "I'll bring her back."

Eleanor looked up at him, a faint smile pulling at her lips.

"I know you will."

And it was this promise and that faith that held Nathaniel together as he swiftly rode across Mayfair and towards the docks. He had selected Sylvan, his fastest horse, for this task, but Nathaniel found that no horse seemed fast enough; Nathaniel couldn't help but imagine the worst that could happen as the seconds ticked. He seethed whenever he remembered how Lord Farrelly, the Grouser and Farnsworth the jerk played with Nicola's feelings, taking advantage of her being an orphan, her trusting nature... Even her love for fashion! If they hurt Nicola in any way–

"Help!" came a shriek, jarring Nathaniel out of his thoughts. "Up here!"

At that frantic and alarmingly familiar voice, Nathaniel pulled Sylvan to stop. With a fair amount of dread he looked up at the source of the call, and at the moment, he was certain that his heart stopped. On top of the roof and holding desperately onto a chimney while the wind blew on her dress was none other than the brave but undoubtedly frightened Miss Nicola Sparks.

Nathaniel vaguely heard his father order some of the Bow Street Runners to rush inside the building. Perhaps Lord Sheridan had yelled something in Nathaniel's direction, as well, but Nathaniel didn't hear him. As a matter of fact, Nathaniel couldn't pay attention to anything except for the scene on the roof. A man whom Nathaniel didn't know was trying to approach Nicola from the other side of the roof, and was apparently telling her to come back in the building. Nicola, however, only inched farther away from him. At that moment, Nathaniel didn't know if he wanted Nicola to obey the other man or not.

_Don't fall don't fall don't fall don't fall...!_

The man had just stepped over the crest of the roof and onto Nicola's side when, suddenly, he froze. Then, slowly, like a train whose engine had just been started, he moved down the incline but without actually lifting his feet. In a frantic attempt to keep himself from falling the man's arms flailed and, to Nathaniel's horror, grabbed Nicola's skirt. Nicola tried to hold on to the chimney but it was no use. Helplessly, Nathaniel opened his mouth to call her name, but nothing came out. Instead, sounds seemed magnified as they resonated into his ears. The crash of waves in the nearby sea, the god-awful sound of clay hitting clay, and then finally, Nicola's scream, piercing Nathaniel's very soul.

* * *

**From the Author: **Hmmm. Right. So sorry if you think the travel from the Sheridans to the Gilded Rose was too short, but I just thought that only so much can happen while speeding like mad across the city. And, really, Nat and Nicky have had enough time apart. Dontcha think so, too?

About Harold explaning the situation: I know we all know what had happened, and we've been through it while Nat investigated, but I just felt that the _actual_ explanation still needed to be present. I wasn't too happy about how Nat had been itching to go and rescue Nicola but had to wait for one and three quarters of a chapter before he could finally do it, but...yeah. Anyway.

We're almost done; just two chapters left!I'm excited but really really nervous about the next chapter. Ack I don't want to mess that one up. Gimme a review to motivate me? Heehee.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer:**_Nicola and the Viscount_ is Meg Cabot's. Not mine. All the characters and all the spoken dialogue in this chapter are conjured up by Meg Cabot. I just try to peek into Nat's brain for fangirl enjoyment.

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**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

He didn't think.

He didn't think, partly because he had no time to think, but partly because his mind was numb from panic. But, really, he didn't_need_ to think because he knew precisely what he had to do. Letting out an urgent "Hah!" Nathaniel kicked his horse, sending it to full gallop. His eyes darted from Nicola's falling form to the street and back, and his other senses, heightened and numb at the same time, only registered so much as he desperately prayed to God Almighty that everything would turn out all right.

The next several seconds were a blur.

The wind rushing all around him...

His heart pounding in his chest...

_**NICKY!!!**_

And then, suddenly, a weight on his arms, making him almost violently pull on the reins of his horse. Sylvan neighed loudly, his front hooves rising to the air before clapping down on the cobblestones as clay shingles shattered to pieces around them. And then there was silence. For several beats Nathaniel remained as he was, body tense and lungs heaving, clutching Nicola's lithe form.

There came a trembling intake of breath near his ear, and Nathaniel righted himself to look down at her, exclaiming "Nicky!" as he did so. He found her bright sapphire eyes staring up at him, obviously stunned and almost unseeing.

"Nicky!" he repeated urgently, "Can you hear me?_Nicky_!"

She blinked once, twice... and then, like the sun rising to a brand new day, recognition slowly crept across her features. He watched a smile grace her pale yet still beautiful face; it was all Nathaniel could do not to kiss her right there and then.

"Nat!" she cried throwing her arms around his neck, and Nathaniel thought there was no sweeter sound than her voice saying his name happily. "Oh, Nat!"

Nathaniel himself held her to him for all he was worth and, unable to stop himself from doing so, inhaled the fragrant lavender scent that always enveloped her. "Nicky, are you all right? My God, did they hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine," Nicola told him. "I'm just fine."

Nathaniel closed his eyes for a moment, letting out another sigh of relief. "You're shaking," he observed, thankful that his cloak was big enough for them both. "Are you cold?"

"No," Nicola replied, her voice muffled. "I'm laughing."

Nathaniel blinked at this, pulling away slightly to look down at her. She was, indeed, laughing joyfully on his shoulder, perhaps out of sheer wonder that she had so closely escaped death. Nathaniel smiled, agreeing with the thought. He had plunged forward not knowing if he would actually be able to catch her. But she was alive, she was safe, she was in Nathaniel's arms... And he intended to keep it that way.

"Is she all right, Nat?" came a voice, causing both Nathaniel and Nicola to look up at the worried Lord Sheridan, atop his own horse.

Through happy tears Nicola answered in the affirmative, but, even though this was of course taken into account, Nathaniel's father did not look like he was about to share her mirth. His worries were calmed, yes, but his voice was firm as he turned to Nathaniel and said, "Get her home. We'll clean up here."

It was at that moment that Nicola properly looked around her to see the Bow Street Runners arresting her captors. Lord Renshaw and Lord Farelly were still inside the Gilded Rose and, judging from the sounds within, were also resisting the Runners quite valiantly. Nicola needn't to see all this, Nathaniel decided. Lord Sheridan seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he waved at his son and told him to go ahead back to Mayfair. Nathaniel nodded, and soon they were on their way home.

They trotted onward in silence for a while, Nicola comfortably resting her head on Nathaniel's shoulder. He let her, of course; aside from finding the sensation quite comforting, himself, he would give her everything she needed to calm down. Although she had said that she had not been hurt, Nathaniel couldn't help but feel that Nicola only said that out of relief from being rescued.

He felt his rage rise up again at the thought of the recent events. How dare they do this to Nicola! Was her emotional pain not enough for them? They had to kidnap her, and worse, nearly drive her to her death! And Nicola, what had gotten into her to be so careless? She had so nearly gotten herself killed! Didn't she know what she did to him? And not only him, but to his mother, his father, and Eleanor, as well. Especially Eleanor! Nathaniel was sure the poor girl was worried sick waiting at home.

"What were you thinking," he found himself saying out loud, "leaving the house like that without telling anyone where you were going?"

Nicola lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up at him, astonishment clearly written all over her face. What? Did she think that she was not going to be reprimanded for her foolishness?

"That wasn't my fault," she cried. "They tricked me!"

"Harold Blenkenship told us all about how they tricked you," Nathaniel told her, carefully keeping his voice low so as not to yell. "Only an utter fool would have fallen for such a trick. Sir Hugh, asking you to meet him at Grafton House. The idea! He never would have done such a thing in a thousand years."

"The note said it was to be a surprise," Nicola reasoned. "A surprise for Eleanor. How was I to know it was a lie?"

"Because if you had the sense God gave a cat, you'd know Sir Hugh is too much of a gentleman to ask an unmarried lady to meet him alone, even in the middle of the day, and in a public place. Nicola, it's a wonder you weren't killed. You very easily could have been, you know."

"Nicola". He had called her Nicola. Nathaniel had always liked her full name but he had always preferred calling her by her nickname. Being given the privilege of calling her Nicky signified Nathaniel's—and Eleanor's, and Phillip's—relationship with her: that of family. Thus, it was no wonder that addressing her as Nicola felt so strange to Nathaniel. Still, it was a necessary evil. Nathaniel was trying to make a point, and if he had to use her real name so that she would listen to him instead of trying to excuse herself, then so be it.

Unfortunately, Nicola didn't even seem to notice the switch of names. Instead, her delicate jaw clenched as she looked away, and she insisted in a tight voice, "I know that now. But you needn't be so awful about it. It was a simple mistake."

"A mistake that could have cost you your life!" Nathaniel shot back in correction. "I swear, Nicola, sometimes I think you need a keeper."

_Maybe then I'd spend less time worried sick over you,_ Nathaniel added inwardly. But, of course, being the stubborn, resourceful, wonderful girl that Nicola was, Nathaniel knew that a keeper couldn't stop her from doing what she believed to be right even if that right thing might cost her her life. That afternoon was proof of that. How ironic that some of the things he loved about Nicola were the exact same things that almost drove him insane. Perhaps that was why they called it being _madly_ in love with someone.

"Well," she said, coughing. Nathaniel thought he heard her sniffle, but he could have been mistaken. "At least I did the right thing in the end. I convinced Harold to go for help—"

"If that's not an example of the blind leading the blind, I don't know what is," Nathaniel countered as he steered Sylvan through the streets. "If that boy escapes a thrashing from me, it's only because I was too busy getting you out of the mess he's partly responsible for getting you into in the first place."_ And he even had the gall to waste time demanding his well-being while you dangle from a chimney! _"If he had just said something from the beginning—"

"He did. He tried. You don't understand," Nicola interrupted, surprising Nathaniel. Why on God's good earth was she defending her spineless cousin?! "It isn't easy for Harold. He wants to be a clothing designer, only his father wouldn't let him."

"And that makes it all right for him to stand by while innocent girls are being terrorized?" Nathaniel shook his head, attempting to hold fast to the last fiber of his patience. "I tell you, Nicky. There's going to be hell to pay for all this. Your uncle's going to jail, and I wouldn't be too surprised to see Lord Farelly and the viscount clapped in irons, as well."

"He isn't my uncle."

Silence fell then, and Nathaniel tried to find his calm and focus on the street before them instead of the frowning girl in his arms. Nathaniel tenaciously kept his eyes in front, afraid to see if Nicola was hurt by his words. Perhaps the whole "if you had the sense God gave a cat" bit was a little too strong, he contemplated. Despite his effort to control himself from yelling, Nathaniel's voice had still risen too much for his liking. It was just that he so needed her to understand how serious the situation had been, and how much he wished that she never _ever_ do that to him again, and how much he wished she had listened to him earlier so she could be spared from this whole ordeal.

God, he would have given _anything _to spare her from all this.

"In any case," she began softly, "you came just in time, Nat. Just like... just like Lochinvar!"

_Good grief!_ Nathaniel thought as he turned to look down at her with a frown. Must she bring up that lame knight? And here he thought they were going to get home in peace!

"Oh, Nat!" Nicola cried, obviously seeing his annoyance. "Really. You simply must get over this absurd prejudice you have against poetry. Whatever is wrong with it, anyway?"

"It's just all so stupid," Nathaniel declared. "No one talks that way, Nicky. Not in real life. Why can't they just say it plainer, the way people talk? That's why I don't like it. I don't—I can't, really—understand it." He frowned deeper, simply irritated that the one thing Nicola so loved was something he couldn't come to grips with. "Why can't Romeo, instead of saying all those bits about wishing he were a glove, just come out and say that he loves her?"

Nicola didn't answer at once. Instead, she lifted one fo her hands from its place on his neck to stroke the lock of hair that had fallen unnoticed across his forehead. The action was so gentle, Nathaniel had to exert tremendous effort not to lean into her touch and smile at her. They were having an argument of sorts, were they not? To look into her sapphire eyes would only secure his downfall!

Nathaniel told himself this and alerted himself that the sky was indeed getting darker by the second, and Eleanor was at home and anxiously waiting for them, and they truly should be hurrying home instead of going at this slow, relaxed pace–...

But the feel of Nicola's fingers in his hair just felt _so_ good...

"...gotten their money's worth," she was saying.

Nathaniel quickly pulled himself back to the present, realizing that it was his turn to speak. Miraculously remembering that the topic of conversation was poetry, he quickly answered without actually knowing what her response was. "I suppose that's how Bartholomew got you to agree to marry him," he said sharply. "He flung a lot of poetry at you."

Nathaniel hadn't meant to snap at her, but he couldn't help it. Blame it on Nicola's distracting ministrations to his hair! And Bartholomew! Blame it also on the annoying git for having a flowery tongue spouting poetry for his ladylove and therefore blinding her from true colors.

"Actually, he didn't," Nicola said. "He didn't have to. You see, I didn't even know Lord Sebastian. I said yes when he asked me to marry him because I loved—or thought I loved—an idea I had of him. But my idea of him was totally wrong from the reality of him. You tried to warn me so, but I wouldn't listen."

"I'll say," Nathaniel muttered automatically. Well, thank goodness that Nicola finally recognized what he had been trying to tell her for so long, that her feelings for the viscount had been baseless as she didn't know anything about her former fiancé and—..._Wait, WHAT?!_

Sylvan gave a soft neigh of complaint when suddenly Nathaniel pulled on the reins again. Although Nathaniel was fond of his fastest steed he ignored it, choosing instead to study Nicola's expression.

"Wait a minute, Nick. Do you mean to say... Do you mean to say you don't love Bartholomew anymore?"

Oh, all heavens rejoice if that was what she meant! Nathaniel quickly wondered if tomorrow's weather would be as agreeable as today. Perhaps he could take Nicola to the lake the following morning; granted, of course, that she felt up to it after the whole business of falling down the roof.

"No," Nicola replied. "I mean to say I never loved him in the first place. I only thought I did, because it was easier than admitting to myself the truth about who I _really_ loved."

Whatever hope that had risen in Nathaniel's heart fell to the cobblestones with a pitiful crash. This was quite perfect. Quite perfect indeed. He had sped across the city on a galloping horse to save her from the clutches of the jerk of a man named Sebastian Bartholomew, only to hand her over to the man she claimed to now love. The one she _really_ loved. Although he would _never_ simply hand her over to the next bloke to attempt to claim her heart, Nathaniel only wished for Nicola to be happy. And if that meant that he had to indeed hand her over, then he shall, although begrudgingly, do it.

"And who," he asked pointedly, "is that?"

Nicola looked away, a smile gracing her face. On most days, seeing her smile brightened the skies for him. This time, however, it made his shoulders feel heavier, and keeping his composure was beginning to be a chore. Why would her smile now make him feel light, if that delicate blush on her cheeks was a testament to her feelings for another man? Despite the fact that he had told Nicola — and it was actually true — that he had wished to be wrong about Sebastian Bartholomew, if only to save her from pain, he found himself wishing that this man, whoever he was, was another git that he could get rid of.

"My goodness," she said, her gaze directed to Sylvan's pointed ears. "For someone who got a first in mathematics from Oxford, your powers of deduction aren't very strong, are they?"

Nathaniel blinked once as he continued to look down at Nicola with confusion. He was supposed to know who his new rival was? He made a quick recall, but there was no other bloke whom Nicola paid extra attention to this season. Bartholomew the annoying git was clearly out of the question, Sir Hugh was not an option and, even if she had argued in his defense earlier, it was impossible that it was the Milksop. Who else was there? The only one left was...

Was...

She couldn't mean...

_...Me?_

The mere possibility of it sent a grin—a rather idiotic one, he was sure—to quickly spread across Nathaniel's face, and in the next second he was crushing Nicola to himself with every intention of never letting her go.

"Nicky!" he exclaimed, barely able to contain his joy. "Do you mean it? Or are you only teasing?"

She had better not be teasing! He didn't know what he would do if she was. He felt her try to pull away from him, but he was reluctant to let her; he wanted to stay in the haven that was the crook of her neck.

"Of course I'm not teasing," she said, looking up at him. "I tried to put it plainly so you could understand. I know how you feel about poetry—"

But Nathaniel wasn't listening anymore. In one swift movement he enveloped her lips with his own, pouring his whole being into their first kiss as his arms held her as close to him as possible. Nathaniel had waited—no, _dreamed_—of this for so long that, once she had confirmed that she was telling the truth, he couldn't think of anything else but kiss her. And so he did. The kiss was urgent yet gentle, eager but not demanding. Tasting her cherry lips was just like he imagined it, only better, because no fantasy could do justice to the real thing.

Feeling a near desperate need to say it, Nathaniel paused to whisper, "Nicky, I love you so," before dipping back down to kiss her even more deeply. He didn't care if people were staring at them—and he was sure they were—because all his attention was on the girl in his arms, his sweet, amazing, beautiful Nicky, and how exhilarating it felt when she kissed him back.

* * *

**From the Author: **Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! I so enjoyed adapting that chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it, too. The next chapter will be the last one. The scene's going to be different from the one in the original book, though, since Nathaniel barely appeared in the original...and, um... yeah. Happy valentine's day, everyone! 


	20. Chapter 20

Wow, I didn't think this chapter would turn out to be this long, but... Anyway.

Oh, and did I mention that I was nervous about this final chapter? No? Okay. I'm nervous about this final chapter. Great. Glad we have that cleared.

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** _Nicola and the Viscount_ is Meg Cabot's. Not mine. The characters and plot aren't mine, either. I only fill in the blanks in between in an attempt to satisfy my fluff-hungry self.

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**  
CHAPTER TWENTY**

Stretching his arms over his head with an "Ah," Nathaniel laid down on the grass, grateful for the time when he could finally close his eyes and listen to the silence. The day had been by all means enjoyable, but at that moment, Nathaniel wanted to just... be.

The journey from London to Northumberland was no walk in the park, but the long trip, as painful as it was in the behind after a few hours, was worth it. Beckwell Abbey, as Nicola generously descibed to the Sheridans, was a quaint manor situated on a beautiful expanse of green sloping meadows. A stream burbled beside it, and, not far away, sheep and cattle grazed happily.

Nana and Puddy—the caretakers of the abbey who raised Nicola since her parents' passing—were heartwarmingly pleasant. Puddy had welcomed Lord Sheridan's business-related input, and also Nathaniel's suggestions in keeping accounts straight for the abbey; Nana had had a grand time when Sir Hugh began cracking jokes while she made ginger cake for them. Even the workers in the abbey had their share of the fun when Phillip, ever bubbling to the brim with amusing ideas, snuck some duck eggs into the henhouse, causing a racket when the hen cackled the moment it saw its newly hatched chicks. The young man received an earful from Lady Sheridan, but behind her, both Eleanor and Nicola appeared to be on the verge of breaking into laughter but managed to keep prim and proper.

Strange, it was, that although it was his first time to set foot on Beckwell Abbey, it already felt like home to Nathaniel.

A small "tsk" beside him caused Nathaniel to open his eyes to see the soft curve of Nicola's back as she reached for something near her feet. Then, she sat back again, her slim fingers brushing a few locks of her glossy raven hair from the nape of her neck.

Nathaniel couldn't help smiling, remembering his encounter with her neck just a short while earlier. It was when he was inviting Eleanor and Nicola to the stream where he and Sir Hugh were teaching Phillip to swim. He had leaned in when Nicola suddenly turned away, saying something about his being dripping wet, and so the kiss landed on her neck instead of her cheek. It wasn't an unpleasant experience at all, and the half-shriek, half-giggle that Nicola let out was interesting, but it would have been much better if Eleanor hadn't burst out laughing.

There came another sound from Nicola... This time, instead of a simple "tsk" she harrumphed, still softly, as if she was trying not to be heard. Nathaniel saw Nicola toss something away—it flew to the grass so fast that he couldn't determine what it was—with a sharp flick of her wrist, and then she was leaning forward, and then she was sitting back again. Nathaniel's eyebrows furrowed slightly when more little things—white, Nathaniel noticed this time—were thrown—not just tossed, but _thrown—_to the ground. Fortunately, a small tilt of his head allowed him to catch a glimpse of what Nicola was so occupied with.

"You're not playing 'he loves me, he loves me not', are you?"

Nicola jumped in her seat, whipping around at Nathaniel's inquiry. If there had been a frown on her face a second earlier as suggested by the sounds she was making, then it was completely gone, replaced instead with a surprised look as her cheeks took on an embarrassed pink hue.

"Nat!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were asleep!"

"I may be tired, Nick," Nathaniel told her as he sat up, "but I'm not _that_ tired to fall asleep in two minutes. And you haven't answered my question."

"Your question?" Nicola asked, batting her eyelashes innocently. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. She wasn't trying to distract him with her bright sapphire eyes and that flirtatious curve of her highly kissable lips, was she?

Oh no, no, no. Nathaniel was not to be distracted.

Yet.

"Yes, my question," he said. "The one possibly connected to that daisy you are presently hiding behind your back."

"Oh, that?" Nicola laughed in a dainty_—_and positively defensive_—_way. "I was just... _admiring_ it— NAT!"

Ignoring her gasp of protest, Nathaniel reached across Nicola to successfully procure the flower of discussion. It was already missing three or four white petals.

"And plucking out its pretty petals one by one? Hm, yes, of_course_ you were admiring the poor daisy. How could I have been mistaken?"

Nicola crossed her arms, looking away. The light tint of her cheeks grew to be a defninite crimson shade; whether it was due to Nathaniel's teasing sarcasm or his close proximity, he didn't really know.

"You know," Nathaniel began, twirling the daisy in his fingers, "this game is rather pointless."

"Of course," Nicola said, shaking her head, "a man who thinks that poetry is silly seems unlikely to appreciate simple pleasures of life such as this."

"But it is!" Nathaniel insisted. "See here. Loves me, loves me not. It's alternating, correct? So just see if the number of petals is even or not: Even-numbered petals end with 'loves me not', but odd numbered ones don't."

"How mathematical of you."

"First at Oxford, ma'am, and proud of it."

"Good heavens, is this what I am to live with for the rest of my life?"

"Quite. And even when you grow tired of me, you shall not be able to rid yourself of me."

Nicola laughed—a delightful, melodic sound—as she leaned back on her elbows. Nathaniel wasn't sure if Madame Veuxvincent would have approved of such a position—for ladies were of course expected to always sit or stand gracefully, like a swan—but Nicola seemed comfortable enough, and no one else was around, so Nathaniel really didn't mind at all.

Thus their positions were reversed. Whereas Nicola was now the one reclining on the picnic blanket and looking up at the sky, Nathaniel became the one absently fiddling with the daisy. He did not, however, find the urge to pull at the flower. Who invented that useless game, anyway? Nathaniel could not imagine what that person could have been thinking.

"And to think," Nicola began, pulling Nathaniel from the possible history of 'he loves me, he loves me not', "that I very nearly got myself trapped into spending my life with Lord Sebastian..."

The daisy stopped twirling.

"I suppose I was too swept up by the romance of a dashing young viscount falling in love with an orphan that I failed to distinguish poetry from reality," Nicola went on. "My focus was on the wrong thing. Even if he wasn't a proud man who cared about nothing but himself, it still wouldn't have been right."

Nathaniel tore his gaze from the daisy when Nicola paused to sit up.

"I'm sorry," Nicola said, her eyes directed at the grasslands in front of them. "I know that Lord Sebastian isn't your favorite topic of discussion..."

"It's all right," Nathaniel told her. And it truly was all right, because while Nicola mused out loud, Nathaniel realized that he found not a fiber of resentment in himself. Oh, Sebastian Bartholomew was far from being a friend. Perish the thought! But it was quite a refreshing feeling indeed to not anymore be affected by the Viscount Farnsworth.

"It's just," Nicola continued, "I've never considered myself to be shallow, but there I was, being as shallow as shallow could be. And I don't believe I've ever thanked you for all that you did—"

"Nicky..."

"—You didn't have to concern yourself with me, but... Oh, if you hadn't knocked some sense into me...!"

"Nicky," Nathaniel repeated with a little more force, causing her to finally look at him. "Nick, you've thanked me enough. It only so happened that you did it in other ways, and a bit unknowingly, it seems."

If someone had been watching Nicola, they would have thought that she was mulling over Nathaniel's words, and was trying to think of how she could agree—or disagree—with him. Indeed, that was what Nathaniel himself would have thought when Nicola didn't respond.

Except... he couldn't help but notice when her breathing hitched. And when she began blushing. And when her gaze dropped to the general direction of his lips.

Why, Miss Nicola Sparks seemed to have misunderstood him! When Nathaniel said that she had thanked him in other ways, he had meant her bringing him tea when he became too busy in his study, as well as her continued efforts of building the perfect dining room fortress with him and Phillip. And he could never forget her patience with him when he—by his own decision—struggled to learn to appreciate poetry, even for a little bit. Unfortunately, he had failed miserably at it, but Nicola had only smiled at him and told him that he needn't force himself into it just for her.

Instead of all this, however, it appeared that Nicola thought that he was talking about kissing! Not that Nathaniel was complaining, of course, since he quite liked kissing her—liked it so much, in fact, that he had to summon every ounce of his self-control just so he wouldn't kiss her every waking second of the day. That wasn't proper, after all, no matter how appealing it was—

"Nathaniel..."

—and it certainly was _especially_ appealing at that very moment. Really, if Nicola had wanted to distract him earlier, all she should have done was say his name, because the way it rolled off her tongue always sent pleasant shivers down his spine.

_Well,_ Nathaniel absently thought as he crossed the small distance to her lips, _I haven't kissed her today, the one on the neck didn't count since it was an accident, so—_

"Oh!" Nicola suddenly gasped sharply, causing Nathaniel to reflexively jerk away. "I nearly forgot! Earlier, Eleanor told me what happened to the others!"

"... The...huh?"

"It appears that Lady Honoria ran off to America with Harold!" Nicola told him excitedly, as if she had already completely forgotten what was so close_—_so painfully close!_—_to happening. "Isn't it just curious? And here I thought she would go away with her mother; misery loves company, so they say. Perhaps she so greatly repulsed the idea of residing in the Continent. Why, even I am wondering myself why Lady Farelly chose the Continent to flee to. I suppose she was just in too much of a hurry to leave the country, out of the severe embarrassment that her husband and son had been found criminal and sent to Newgate Prison along with the Grouser. Thank goodness I won't be having that problem—"

Truthfully, Nathaniel couldn't have cared less about the Milksop and the Bartholomew ladies, nor the earl, the viscount and the baron. Not when Nicola's narration failed to avert his attention from her mouth. In fact, the speed at which she spoke made Nathaniel want even more to silence her in the most effective way he could think of at the moment.

But he wasn't given the privilege of feeling even a light brush of lips, because Nicola, when she noticed that he was once again coming towards her, placed a firm hand on his chest to keep him from getting closer.

"Nat!" she cried. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to kiss you!" Nathaniel stated, fighting the urge to growl, or roll his eyes. Or both. "What does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

"But what if your mother catches us?"

"So what if she does?"

"We're not chaperoned out here, Nat," Nicola reminded him. "It shall be two years before we wed— Oh, don't roll your eyes. For your information, I quite like it that your mother had us wait until I'm eighteen before we marry. You know I appreciate your parents rightfully bossing me about."

"Because you're an orphan, yes, I know," Nathaniel finished for her, the disappointment in his voice too obvious for his liking. Nicola, however, didn't seem to notice. She also wasn't done speaking.

"Be it two years or two days," she carried on, "there are simply some things we cannot do until we're married."

"Like kissing?" Nathaniel challenged, one dark eyebrow disappearing under the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. "Nicky, I don't think that was one of_—_"

Nathaniel stopped, only then realizing what Nicola might have actually been talking about. As for Nicola, her sapphire eyes widened, she, too, only then realizing what her words had sounded like.

"No, wait, that wasn't what I_—_"

"I say," Nathaniel interrupted, grinning. "Miss Sparks, are you thinking about _those_ things already?"

"Don't look so smug," Nicola commanded, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Oho, you don't deny it, then? Well, I didn't think you found me _that_ irressistable."

At that Nicola's cheeks turned scarlet, and the hand that was still on the cream material of his waistcoat attempted to push him farther away.

"You, Nathaniel Sheridan, are impossible_—_!"

Nicola wasn't able to say anything else, because Nathaniel had covered her lips with his own, finally _finally_ tasting the sweetness of her kiss. In the next few moments, Nathaniel felt as he always did whenever they kissed: light-headed and euphoric. The overwhelming feeling of love engulfed him, as well as a significant amount of... _want_.

But, as always, Nathaniel kept himself in check, never letting things go beyond an innocent kiss. He slowly began to pull away, and when the kiss ended a soft sigh escaped Nicola before her head swayed forward to rest on his shoulder. Her slender hand, which had at some point slid from his coat to his neck so that her fingertips were buried in his hair, stayed where it was.

And it was as Nathaniel was sitting so contentedly, his hazel eyes gazing at the horizon, that Nicola said, quite breathlessly, "I love you."

Nathaniel had heard many times that love wasn't all romance and flowers. His father had told him that it came with responsibilities, sacrifices, and a fair portion of pain.

"But," the Lord Sheridan had also said, "the rewards of love, and being loved in return, is glorious."

Glorious, he had said.

Quite honestly, Nathaniel couldn't agree more.

* * *

**  
From the Author: **Well, there you go. I hope you romantics enjoyed that. If you're wondering why I said I was nervous, it's because this chapter is obviously not in the book, and I was afraid that I might not close the book justly. Add the fact that I wasn't so confident with the kiss. I'm not exactly a veteran in writing kisses. 

Nervousness aside... I reread all your reviews today, and MAN you guys have been AWESOME! If I haven't said it before, I'm saying it again. Your reviews are just the best, and you've convinced me that my first attempt at a fanfic wasn't so bad after all. Haha!

I'm happy and sad at the same time that this fic is finished. I want to continue writing for _Nicola and the Viscount_ but I have no idea what I'm to write about. Aiyayay.

**BUT** I _am_ already starting on my next fic! The girls at the Meg Cabot forum have convinced me to write for_Victoria and the Rogue_. (I think this is no surprise to those who've read my profile recently.) So watch out for that!

Again, I thank **everyone** who read and reviewed. I'm still overwhelmed by the response this fic received! I really really love this book, and I really really love this fic, and I thank you all for sharing this with me. Thank you thank you thank you!


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